


The Dove and the Rook

by FilipinoMestiza



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Bi-Curiosity, Black Markets, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Child Death, F/M, Fist Fights, Gambling, Gang Violence, Illegal Activities, Organized Crime, Romance, Victorian era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-12-11
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-05-06 04:05:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 62,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5402393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FilipinoMestiza/pseuds/FilipinoMestiza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"She was the Dove, who has yet to know of true freedom.<br/>And he was the Rook, who, upon hearing her woes, would help her find it."</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Inspired by Aesop's fable, The Dove and the Crow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Welcome to London

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frye Twins have arrived in London, what awaits them in the dangerous city?

Whitechapel  
March 1868

Who would’ve thought that we could make it to London? The thought hummed in Jacob’s mind as the train began to make its terminal at the train station. 

He felt his insides squirm from the excitement that resonated throughout his entire body. His eyes were still fixated on the window, content on watching the complex buildings and houses pass by in a blur. Evie had began her usual hour-long lecture of what they should do once they’ve arrived at their destination, and what Jacob shouldn’t do to compromise the mission.

The train let out a loud howl when the engine began to slow down. Impatient passengers stood up, eager to be the first one out of the suffocating cart. Jacob frowned at most of the pompous city natives that politely jostled one another for the privilege of being the first to breath good air again. The doors eventually opened with a searing hiss, and that was their moment to follow the current of people. Jacob had to smile and laugh, how could he not? The Frye Twins were in London at last! The boys in Crawley surely won’t believe him. And to think they caused an explosion and a train to derail earlier in the day.

“I’ve never seen so many people all at once,” Jacob muttered, moving his way through the hectic crowd of the station. Evie nodded in agreement. It was her first time too, and she kept a keen eye on potential spies.

“The churning seas of London. It’s just the way Father described,” she said and took in their new surroundings. “Now, to find Henry Green, and formulate a plan of attack against the Templars.” She looked over her twin to see if he had been listening.

“Who’s Mr. Green again?” Jacob asked, eyes wandering about, taking in the sight and the colors of the borough.

Evie scowled at his absentmindedness. “The Assassin watching over London, did you not listen the first three times?”

“Listen to what?” Jacob playfully inquired. But then his eyes widen in surprise when someone collided into him. The younger twin turned and saw a boy in a workhouse uniform holding up his dirty hands at the pair. “Oi, watch it!”

“Beg your pardon, sir!” the boy muttered and ran off.

On instinct, Jacob patted down his trousers and realized that his coins were missing from its respective pocket. “Oi, come back here you filthy dipper!” he shouted and began to run after the child thief.

“Jacob, stop!” Evie yelled out, but her brother was already intent on chasing the boy. With no other choice, she followed after them, focusing on the thundering footfalls of Jacob as he kept turning into alleyways and jump over walls, determined to retrieve what little money they had.

Whitechapel was more confusing in the way of passages and routes. The twins were more accustomed to the streets of a large town, and could easily manuever themselves through. But these towering houses and sharp corners were different. The city was a maze in itself. Things hid themselves in the corner, and Evie realized that she had to be more attentive. Up ahead, Jacob continued his dogged hunt of the boy. He should’ve paid more attention. After all, he was trained to heigten his senses, and yet he allowed some meager street urchin to sneak into his pockets. What a blow to the ego that was!

Over the sound of his breathing, he heard the child cry out. He steadied his pace to a lesurely stride and stumbled upon two men in red jackets arresting the boy by the wrists. Blighters, the scum of the city both above and underground. One of them snatched Jacob’s money right off his hand, and then shoved the boy away. When they looked up, their glares were fixed on him, this new stranger that just sauntered his way into trouble. Jacob smirked, not a few hours in and he already had a taste of what London was like. They sputtered a few insults, and tried to intimidate him through a display of weaponry. The Assassin readied his brass knuckles and raised his prepared fists at them.

The Guy to the Left executed the first swing, but Jacob took a step back to dodge him, and quickly countered with a right hook. The punch landed on the man’s jaw, and they all heard the terrible contact of metal against flesh and bone. He sent another powerful hit to make it even, and he saw teeth and a bit of blood scattering into the air. The man gasped, clearly not expecting his opponent to be rather professional. 

The Guy on the Right was now showing signs of apprehension, took out a baton and tried to land a hit while Jacob was still preoccupied. The young man side-stepped out of the way, and gave him the same beating as his companion. The blow to his chin made him stumble and hit the back of his head against the brick wall, knocking the poor bloke out of the fight. 

Jacob huffed and turned to the remaining brawler. Despite his ruined face, the man could still put up a decent fight. With a contented smirk, Jacob grabbed him by the shoulders and used his knee to wallop him in the stomach. The man doubled over, heaving his contents into the ground, and fell on top of it. The conflict was over before it even began. 

“Ha, excellent! What else does London have to offer?” Jacob said, somewhat exhausted yet thrilled by his first conflict in a new place.

Presently, Evie appeared down the alley. She showed little concern over the fight that had just occured; she swept over Jacob’s appearance, and seeing that there were no injuries, she spoke, “Now is not the time for tourism, Jacob. Now’s the time to find Henry Green.” She looked up at the rooftops and an impish smirk suddenly appeared on her pretty face.

“I’ve always been the quicker climber, haven’t I?”

“Not since we were two.” Jacob retorted.

“Race you to the highest vantage point!”

The younger Frye twin let out a laugh and forced his trembling legs to purse his sister through the narrow street.


	2. The Rooks are coming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie will do what she can to liberate London from the Templars. Jacob will do what he can to form an infamous gang.

The meeting with the mysterious Henry Green was rather convoluted, to say the least. First of all, neither of the Frye Twins had expected him to be so foreign in appearance. Second, the sole Assassin of London was made to believe that they were there under strict orders from the Council itself. Jacob had to bite his tongue at the mention of their leaders. Ferris had been right all along: they were a bunch of cowards lurking in the shadows. Henry gave them a brief yet unfortunate explanation as to what was going on in the city. The influence of Crawford Starrick has gone beyond their expectations, for no nook and cranny was left untouched in his regime, and that included the industries and the gangs.

All of a sudden, a rare idea struck Jacob Frye, and he thought of it marvelous and logical. “I’ve always thought myself as a gang leader. Firm, but fair. We’ll have uniforms. And I’ll unite a mix of disenfranchised outsiders under one name.” He whispered, most likely to himself. He turned to his sister with a massive grin that seemed almost concerning. “That’s it, Evie. We can rally them to our side!”

“Oh? Like the way you rallied those card players at the Oakbrook Tavern into the river?”

“That was different, they beat me at whist.” Jacob returned his attention to the visage in front of them, his arms spread wide like a magician about to perform his latest trick yet. “I can see it now: we’ll call ourselves...The Rooks!”

“You were never good at chess either.” Evie pointed out.

Jacob frowned at his sister’s bluntness. “Have you got a better plan then?”

“Find the Piece of Eden!” The older Frye twin responded. Jacob let out a tired groan and rolled his eyes at her. Sensing an argument arising between them, Henry cleared his throat and decided to intervene.

“Well, let me show you the lay of the land.” The twins finally had their gazes on him, and he gestured towards the immense chimney beside him. “Shall we?”

Reluctantly, the twins nodded, and each of them took a side of their own to reach the top. The view was splendid, despite the inky black smoke emitted by the adjacent factories. Henry shortly joined them, a look of disapproval was visibly evident on his features. Unbeknownst to him, Evie took the moment to regard his appearance: he seemed clever, as any Assassin should be. She had never seen an Indian this close before, and she was quite amazed to find this one so appealing. He had a demeanor that exuded a monarchial frame of mind.

“Look at what Starrick has done to the city,” Henry began, and Evie listened to him. “Whitechapel is riddled with crime; child labor, despite regulations. A gang known as the Blighters overruns the streets, and Templars manipulating behind the scenes. As in all the other boroughs. We need to return this city to the people who built it in the first place.”

Evie, encouraged by the moving speech, was even more determined to support the idea of liberating the great city from Templar control and anything that opposed their objectives. “We will free London from Starrick, you have my word.” A ghost of a smile graced the Indian man’s face.

“And my Rooks!” Jacob interjected, but was entirely ignored.

“Miss Frye, your passion is inspiring.” Henry replied. The gratefulness in his dark eyes shone brightly, and Evie felt her face burning from his praise. “Come, let us return to my shop and I can bring you up to date on the rest.” With that, he expertly leaped from the edge of the chimney and dove right into a cart of hay below.

Evie looked to her twin, who had his lips pursed like a stubborn child. “Well, ladies first,” she said in slight jest.

“Very funny.” Jacob grunted and vaulted off his perch. Evie sighed, following her brother thereafter.

As they strolled along the pavement, Henry caught suspicious movement across the street. He turned to the twin Assassins and signaled them to move faster. Bothered, Evie hurried to his side and asked him what was wrong.

“Keep quiet,” he said in a hushed tone. “Kaylock is looking for me.”

“Who is Kaylock?” Evie inquired.

“One of Starrick’s gang leaders.”

Jacob raised an eyebrow at that. “Why does he want you?”

“He’s after one of my more arcane research into one of the Precursor artifacts.” Henry explained, still maintaining a quiet voice. Evie knew what he meant: the Piece of Eden, and her thoughts were confirmed by his silent agreement.

Knowing where the discussion was heading, Jacob decided to interject one more time. “So tell me all about these...Blighters.” Thankfully, the subject changed in his favor.

“In search of an army, Starrick gathered up the nastiest of the Underworld. Some of the city’s gangs tried to prevent it, and were slaughtered for their efforts. Now, only Whitechapel’s Clinkers remain opposed, but they’re no match for the Blighters.”

Jacob felt elated by the statement. “Well, let’s shine these Clinkers up then, shall we? They’re just the sort we’re looking for!”

“You can’t be serious, Jacob.” Evie said over her shoulder.

“Evie, they’re ready to fight and oppose the Blighters. This is my chance to step in!” Then, with a loud cry, Jacob exclaimed, “Look out London, here come the Rooks!”

Without warning, Henry suddenly dashed off, and Evie, alarmed by his abrupt pace, hurried after him with Jacob not too far behind. And while the older twin matched their guide in steadying his pace, the younger one continued to sprint, and ended up bumping into someone around the corner.

“Confound this city! No one ever looks where they’re going!” the old gentleman said in frustration.

“Yes, I’ve noticed that.” Jacob scoffed. The man’s papers went flying everywhere and scattered all over the ground. Sighing at her brother’s clumsiness, Evie knelt down and helped gather the documents.

“Bloody Drood! I’ll never finish it at this rate.” The man grumbled, and then he took on a faraway look as he stared at the distance. “Only providence knows where those words are headed now.” And upon finishing his odd remark, he stood, animated than beforehand.

“Well, I must get to work replacing them! Thank you, Miss!” He kindly retrieved his works from Evie with a small smile beneath his grey mustache. “Oh, should you ever be in the mood for a tale or two, you can always find me where the ale is warm and tempers are hot! Ta-ta!”

After the man departed, Jacob shook his head in indifference. “What an odd man!”

“That, Mr. Frye, was Charles Dickens. He knows everyone and everything in this city.” Henry was quick to correct him. “If I were you, I would keep that connection in your back pocket.” 

For once, Jacob looked contemplative, and Evie was somewhat pleased that her brother was actually mulling it over. Across from them, Henry perceived a couple of Blighters, one male and one female, talking to one another before the female member bolted out of their sight to likely warn her boss. He knew there would be trouble coming to them soon.

“Kaylock’s gang is nearby.” Henry turned to twins, and they instantly became alert. “They must not follow me back to the shop.” He rummaged through his robes for the weapons he usually carried, and pulled out a pair of revolvers.

“Here, you might be able to use this.” He presented the firearms to them, and Jacob was hesitant to take it from his hand.

“Oh God, I hope so.” While that didn’t sound quite assuring, Henry trusted that he would be able to accomplish the task he wouldn’t do. He instructed them to use his carriage in order to mislead the Blighters, whereas he would take a different route to his curio shop. He bid the twins good luck, and swiftly took to the shadows.

Evie and Jacob were quick to mount the carriage, and no sooner had they seized the reins, two transports driven by Blighters appeared behind them.

“We have to lure them away!” Evie told her twin.

“Better yet: let’s snuff them out!” Jacob shouted. Their enemies had caught up to them, and were now flanking their sides. He pulled the reins to redirect the horses, and rammed the carriage itself against the Blighters. One yelped and flew out of his seat.

“Keep going, Jacob!” Evie exclaimed. She pulled out her revolver and shot the remaining driver.

Another tug from Jacob, and the carriage collided into the other transport on their left side. The Blighters screamed as they crashed into a street lamp, breaking the carriage into thousands of splinters. Their horses eventually galloped away, free from their clutches. The twins let out a sigh of relief, and figured it was safe to go to Mr. Green’s curio shop.

“We nearly destroyed the carriage and overexerted the chargers.” Evie muttered after looking over the damage they had caused to the transport.

“Don’t bother, I’m sure Greenie can replace it.” Jacob said, confident in his remark. His twin sister simply crossed her arms and stayed quiet for the rest of the drive.


	3. Peculiar Allies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frye twins should know that they're not alone in their cause.

To be very honest, Jacob had a difficult time locating the curio shop since he was still getting used to the chaotic streets of Whitechapel. Even the horses were getting tired of his lack of direction. And, to humiliate himself even further, Evie had forced him to stop and ask the pedestrians. In the end, an old tanner gave them the particular whereabouts, and they’ve eventually arrived at their destination.

“That took longer than I expected.” Evie commented as she dismouted her seat.

“Come on, it’s not my fault we got lost...twice.” Jacob frowned at his twin.

“You were too arrogant to stop and inquire. It’s not like those civillians were going to tell on the Blighters immediately, Jacob.”

The Frye twins then entered the establishment, and were promptly bombarded with items that possibly came from different countries. Jacob looked up and saw a tiny crocodile on black wires hanging from the ceiling. There was also a strange round fish right next to it, and shelves around the room held all sorts of fascinating objects: carved effigies, curving lengths of elephant tusks, plaques of tortoiseshell, and a giant shell shaped like a pink fist. They found Henry standing over a table, which was littered with papers and documents. The Indian then acknowledged their attendance and motioned them to come closer.

“Did you give them the slip?” Henry asked them.

“We gave them more than that.” Jacob said with his nose in the air.

Evie scoffed inwardly and studied the sketches on the table. “Who are all these people?”

“Over the years, I have established a number of connections across the city.” Henry explained to them.

“Splendid, we’ll need focused aid.” Evie replied shortly, but received a huff from Jacob.

“Focused aid?” he mocked. “We take over Starrick’s gangs, then we cripple his control.”

“You’re not aiming high enough.” Evie admonished her brother. “Starrick has influence in every branch of society. We need to match him.”

“I see what you’re saying, Evie.” Jacob said, appearing regardful. “We need the Rooks!”

But the older Frye twin was quick to shoot him down. “You are not starting a gang called the Rooks.”

“I believe I may have an idea of my own.” Hentry interrupted their dialogue once more.

“You will need the police to turn a blind eye to our activities. My ally in the force, Sergeant Abberline.” He pointed at the sketch of the said person. “I heard he is a master of disguise.”

He then moved on to the following sketches. “Next up: urchins.”

“Urchins?” Jacob repeated after him.

“Urchins. Children make for excellent spies.”

“Clara O’Dea...” Evie read the name aloud. “...and Sarah Callum.”

“Smart as a whip, that one.” Henry remarked, tapping Clara’s illustration. “And as for her associate, Miss Callum, she is a harmless yet sensible little thing.” Jacob contemplated the drawing for a second before he snagged the piece of paper off the table and waved it in front of the Indian Assassin.

“Do you mind if I keep this?” he asked, slightly unsure.

“Go right ahead,” Henry said. The young man mouthed his thanks and tucked the sketch into his jacket pocket. Likewise, he ignored the scrutinizing look on his sister’s face.

“Finally, you would be wise to remember that Starrick never acts alone: there are gang leaders in every borough. You’ll meet them soon enough, no doubt.” Henry then handed them a description of one specific Blighter ringleader. The fellow was broad-shouldered in appearance, with a terrible scowl that could spoil milk any time. “Rexford Kaylock, known for his ability to vanish before your very eyes.”

Jacob felt the corner of his lips twitch upwards. “Shall we make him vanish for real?” then he turned to his twin for confirmation.

Evie let out a sigh in surrender. “I suppose.”

“Oh, one moment,” Henry rummaged through his desk and pulled out another piece of paper, but this one was intended for the older twin. “Um, a Templar target you might want to look into.” He paused, and then added, “Be careful, it’s rough out there.”

Jacob sneered. “Don’t worry about me, Greenie. I can handle a few thugs.”

“I will contact my allies soon after this to prepare them for your arrival. In the mean time, you two should rest, it has been a very rough day, after all.”

The Assassin bid them a silent farewell as the twins sauntered out of the shop in unison. Glancing down at her pocket watch, Evie realized that it was now half-past twelve noon. The time had surely went by like a breeze. She looked over Jacob and saw that he was ogling at the sketch he took from Henry.

“Jacob, we need to focus,” she said seriously. “We’ll deal with Miss Callum for later. After we get settled, we have to go look for Sergeant Abberline first, do you understand?”

“Hmm?” Her brother responded a second too late. “I’m sorry, were you rambling about your fairytale stories, or were you chattering about how striking Henry Green was?”

“Ugh, never mind any of that! Listen, we’ll each take a reprieve of five to ten minutes, and then we’ll meet up again by the station, so we can go look for our associates together, do I need to repeat that for you?” Evie patiently waited for his response. And after three seconds, Jacob replied with, “Hmm?” before he parried a swing that was intended for his shoulder. 

With a laugh, he started to walk away. “I got it! Meet up at the station, and then look for Miss Callum.”

“No, Jacob, it’s Sergeant Abberline—Oh, what’s the use?” With a swish of her red cape, Evie turned the opposite direction, and thought of the things she could do in the bustling streets of Whitechapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone, FilipinoMestiza here!  
> If you're wondering why I update so quickly it's because I have all the time in the world to do so, and I was completely bored ever since I came back from a three day beach trip.
> 
> I really appreciate all of the hits and the kudos, so thank you very much! It means a lot to me! OFC will be properly introduced in the next chapter. I'm following the plot of Syndicate very carefully, but I will tend to avoid certain missions (i.e. Killing the Gang Leaders and such...)
> 
> I do not own AC: Syndicate, if I did, I would've claimed Jacob as my husband in an instant.


	4. The Magical Dress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Frye twins are looking for Sarah Callum, but Jacob finds something else instead.

Someone was following her.

Sarah steadied her movement to that of a timid behavior so as not to alarm her friends. Turning her head to feign interest in what Georgiana had to say about the current goods, she tried to examine her pursuers through peripheral vision: one male and one female, both of equal height; the older Frye twin wore clothes that matched her deadly career, whereas the younger twin, regardless of his comely visage, wore clothes of low quality.

“I’m sorry, Georgiana, ladies, but I must get going. I still have a bakery to keep an eye on, and people to supervise.” Sarah told her companions.

“We understand, Miss Callum.”

“Will we see you again next week?”

She nodded sincerely and went on her merry way after granting them a polite farewell. With a practiced poise, she strolled out of the marketplace, gently swinging her wicker basket full of vegetables and bottled spices. As she sauntered by a loud Italian merchant, she swiped a hand-held looking glass from his table and used it to view the Assassins over her shoulder. Her breathing hitched: they were close now. She put the mirror in her basket and doubled her gait.

Turning mindfully to the right, she dallied through numerous lodgings and apartments, and promptly entered one house through the front door. A small family in the middle of their luncheon were certainly startled to see a girl walk into their home as if it were hers. She escaped through the back and plucked garments off the clothesline like it was nothing. Once back in the streets, she studied her surroundings for the twins, specifically the roofs, before continuing her flight. She kept her head down until she arrived at a certain alley.

“Oh, hello there, Miss Pretty Dove!” a beggar woman suddenly appeared in front of her, happily clapping her gout-inflicted hands. “It’s so nice to see you again, lovely little dove! I haven’t seen you in...months! I think?”

“Oh, it’s just you, Portia.” Sarah said, slightly out of breath. Then, an idea came to her as she laid her eyes on the beggar’s blonde hair, which was closely similar to her own. 

“Portia, my dear, do you have any clothes to change into?”

The woman laughed and covered her pox-marked face as if she was blushing madly. “Miss Pretty Dove, you know Portia only has one dress, and that dress is the one Portia wore to her wedding day! It was such a beautiful May afternoon! We danced and danced to the pretty music!” She even began to twirl around to show off the said wedding gown, now yellowed and tattered, and covered in soot, grime, and God knows what.

Sarah could only offer a sad smile. “Well, Portia, today is your very lucky day,” she said and gestured the beggar to come closer. “Did you know that this dress of mine is actually made of pure magic?” She pointed towards her gown, which was a curiosity on its own, considering her surroundings and its poor inhabitants.

Portia gasped excitedly. “Really, Miss Pretty Dove?”

“It can attract the handsomest of all suitors in London! With its power, you might be able to find yourself a new and worthy husband.”

“Oh! Can I please have it, Miss? Can I?”

“Yes, of course!”

Voices could be heard a few houses down from where they were situated. Sarah grimaced at the brashness of the younger Frye twin. She assumed that they’d be silent in their hunt. What sort of Assassin was he? The clumsiest one, perhaps. The young woman quickly grabbed Portia by the hand and led her to a nearby shop. 

“Come on, let’s go find an appropriate place to give you my gift.”

Evie and Jacob marched down the alley, gazes shifting left to right, in search of their ally. She had been easy to detect in the marketplace earlier, but Henry had failed to mention how swift Miss Callum was on her feet, or how she was capable of vanishing afterwards. Jacob recalled that she was garbed in a pale blue gown of odd fashion, with long blonde hair decorated in braids and flowers.

“The information warned us to approach her with caution.” Evie reminded him.

“How was I supposed to know she would run away from us?” Jacob grumbled.

“Well, at least we know your charms don’t work on everyone.”

“I’ll have you know my charms are prim and proper.”

“Says the boy who made our potential colleague run off.”

“I resent that—there she is.” 

The twins crouched behind a stack of crates and observed Miss Callum stepping out of a millinery shop wearing a straw bonnet to cover her face, but left her long blonde hair to trail down her back. Jacob sighed; first Freddy Abberline and his Hairy Old Lady disguise, and now this. The young woman jauntily bid goodbye to a pretty maidservant in livery, and then went on their separate ways.

“Come on, we have to get her before she disappears again!” Jacob exclaimed and hurriedly chased after his objective, almost colliding with the maidservant along the way. The young woman called after him for being so rude, but her cries went unheeded.

“I apologize for my brother’s discourtesy, Miss.” Evie said, placing a conciliatory hand on the girl’s shoulder before following her twin. But then, she decelerated when her enhanced perceptivity started to harass her thoughts. The female Assassin briskly turned around and trigged her special sight. Every structure was but a skeleton in her supernatural vision. She could see everything and anything now. People were either colored red, blue, dark grey, or gold. And the departing maidservant was glowing an unusually bright gold in her sight.

“Henry wasn’t lying,” Evie whispered with a smile. “A harmless yet sensible little thing.” And over the regular noise of Whitechapel, she heard her brother screaming out in terror.  
Jacob unwittingly raised his arms in defensive position as if he were blocking attacks from a powerful enemy. A bead of sweat rolled down the side of his face, eyes trained on the target that was trying to corner him into a wall. He flinched when the hideous thing took a step forward. If only he could pull out his revolver and put that creature out of its terrible suffering.

“It’s true! The dress is made of magic!” the beggar woman jumped and clapped with joy. “C’mere, my dear husband! Let us wed and bear many children together!”

“Bear many diseases might be the accurate phrase.” Jacob said as he distorted his face.

Sarah placed a hand on her mouth to cover her giggles as she gradually walked away from the awkward scene, happily tucking a stray blonde lock into the linen cap she wore. She rested the handle of the basket into the crook of her elbow and chose the immediate route to her home. The eighteen-year-old girl hummed an old lullaby while counting the foodstuffs in her basket. The mirror, however, should serve as a perfect gift. Now entering Rosemary Lane, she knew that the bakery was just close at hand.

The Olive Branch was animated with her patrons and workers alike. The smell of freshly baked bread was ever present in the air, and it roused anyone that happens to walk by. Without regard to her territory, Sarah came up to her shop, and was about to step inside when a loud whistle caught her attention. She raised her head in surprise: the Frye twins stood next to a lamp post, waving at her with devilish smiles on their smug faces.

“Thought you’d give us the slip, eh?” Jacob stated as he approached the blonde girl.

“But it certainly worked, didn’t it?” Sarah said, arranging her posture to show defiance.

“Indeed, it did.” Evie replied with a laugh.

“Hey!” Jacob griped. Sarah smiled at their sibling banter, and eventually beckoned them to enter her personal domain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FilipinoMestiza here again!
> 
> When I was mulling over my OFC, I wanted her to be 'acceptably unique' for the Victorian Era, and I stumbled upon the Aesthetic Dress Movement that began with the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. Long story short, these bohemian women would shun the corset, crinolette, and mainstream fashion overall. Their clothes were inspired by the medieval and renaissance-like gowns, which were first worn by the Brotherhood's wives and daughters as they were the models for their paintings.
> 
> Throughout the story, Sarah Callum will be dressed in such manner as a way to shun the conventional etiquettes expected of a young girl like her. Also, she is younger than Jacob and Evie, but older than Clara. Her alliance to the Assassins will be explained further into the plot. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


	5. A Disciple of Hermes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Callum employs the help of the Frye twins to restore order in Trade and Commerce.

“How old are you, Miss Callum?” Jacob inquired once they entered the office belonging to the young woman. 

It was decorated in bright, jewel-like shades of green and yellow, with an orange carpet pinned underneath a dark mahogany desk. A decorative mirror was placed above a giant hearth while one side of the room was filled with books and trinkets. Like Henry’s curio shop, she had possessions that were exotic and justly unconventional. The smell of baked bread and sweet sugar clung to the very air, and it was difficult not to salivate over the enticing fragrances.

Sarah Callum, after handing her shopping basket to an assistant, and asking the twins for a few minutes to change out of the maid uniform she borrowed, was now standing by the large windows garbed in a white artistic dress with olive green juliette sleeves and a wreath of freshly picked roses on her head. She was rather elegant in her own character: her very presence of mind and idiosyncrasy seemed proficient, as if she had been doing this all her life.

“Old enough to hold this meeting with you, Mr. Frye.” Sarah replied after a moment. “Now, Mr. Green tells me that you two are in need of my services.”

“Yes, but we do not know what it is that you actually do, Miss Callum.” Evie told her, honesty coating her words.

“Other than self-preservation, my line of business is to oversee the capital and labor here in Whitechapel, making sure that they are taen care of appropriately by the owners and employees alike.” Sarah explained to them.

“That is quite a burden.” Evie commented without equivocation.

“It has become a grievance due to the Blighter activities in this area.” Sarah sadly told her. “My informants told me that certain Templars are amassing funds for the gang through the use of violence and threats. They’ve been forcing shopkeepers and traders to give up an unacceptable percentage of their profits, and spare no one who refuses them.”

She then took out pieces of information from her desk and handed them to the Frye twins. “These are a few members who regularly inspect Whitechapel for more helpless victims. I need you to take back the money they rifled, and bring it back here to the Olive Branch. I shall govern the rest thereafter.”

“This shouldn’t take long,” Jacob declared. “We’ll be back before you can even prepare for your afternoon tea, Lady Callum.*”

It was painful for Evie to restrain her hand from clouting her twin, and berate him for acting so uncomely in front of their ally. “We will return with the stolen money soon, Miss Callum.”

The blonde smiled and nodded in thanks. “I impart the best of luck to you, Miss Frye.”

The older Frye twin gave her gratitude and swiftly turned to leave. Jacob, however, still remained in place. “And do you have any uplifting words for me, Lady Callum?”

Sarah regarded him quietly. “Actually, I do: remain vigilant, Mr. Frye, or else some beggar woman might sneak into your bed and steal a princely kiss.” With that, she looked away from him, smiling as she did, and tended to the plants on her window sill.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jacob forced a smile and exited the office to follow his twin.

Evie was already by the north end of the lane. She meticulously studied her first target before tearing the paper into tiny shreds and tossing it into a puddle. Pulling her hood up, she surmounted the nearest building and took to the roofs. The target, one Mr. Harker, would usually scout along Whitechapel Road for his usual rounds. She would go there, interrogate him, and perhaps snuff him out if he was being perverse. It didn’t take her long enough to arrive at the designation. The Assassin scanned the crowds for him, and when ten minutes had gone by, she activated her Sight once more.

People in red began to appear in her grey vision. Of course, Blighters would be posted close enough to support their comrades. She focused hard on the wide road beneath her; she couldn’t afford to miss her target, not even by a breadth. There! By the perfume shop! Evie was quick to leap off her perch and calmly approached the man. He was looking at the array of fragrants on the display window, ogling each product with sinister interest. The perfumer kept his hands together and grew increasingly worried for his vocation. And right when the Templar representative stood erect, Evie walloped him in the back of the head and twisted his arm to restrain him.

“Now, I require you to be honest with me: where did you keep the money you stole from the people?” Evie said in a hushed voice.

“I have no idea what you are talking about!” shouted Mr. Harker.

The Assassin twisted his arm further. “Tell me where it is, or I will break your arm in many places, and I can assure you, sir, that it will happen very shortly.” And to emphasize her threat, she fractured his wrist first.

“All right, all right! I’ve kept the money in my rooms at Gardenia on Petticoat Lane! Please let me go now!”

“Thank you, Mr. Harker.” Evie then shoved him hard enough to crash into a stall.

Getting into the rooms had been effortless since the landlady expressed her own dislike for her arrogant tenant. The frowning old woman gave her a spare key and told her to leave it open afterwards for her staff to clean out the mess. Evie searched the desk and the closets for the hoarded money, but found nothing. Curiously, she removed the paintings off the walls until she discovered a vault hiding behind a counterfeited portrait of the Duchess of Devonshire, Georgiana Cavendish*.

“Now to find the code.” Again, Evie foraged through the desk to hunt for another clue. Then, as she walked around the chair, a floorboard loudly creaked underneath her weight. She came down on one knee and removed the loose board to expose a black leather journal and a Colt revolver. In the journal, Mr. Harker jotted down the incompetence of his accomplices over their habitual forgetfulness of his vault code, so he had to write down the entire alphabet and its corresponding numbers to make it easier for them to remember. A = 1, B = 2, C = 3, etcetera, etcetera. And the code for the vault was GREED.

“That settles it then,” Evie hummed and closed the journal. She turned to the vault again and rotated its knob to certain numbers: 7-18-5-5-4. An audible click came up, and its door was now unlocked. The Assassin seized the coffer and promptly left the rooms, thanking the landlady on her way out. 

Tucking the coffer under one arm, Evie recalled her steps and returned to Rosemary Lane. Once there, a girl named Cynthia told her to go around the back to reach Miss Callum. She walked through passage and entered the well-kept courtyard behind the building. Sitting on a battered wood bench, Sarah was busy stitching printed cloths onto a coverlet. Evie cleared her throat to signal her arrival.

“Oh, Miss Frye, you’re back,” Sarah glanced at the small watch hanging around her neck. “And just before Afternoon Tea at that! A pity that Mr. Frye was not true to his words.” She set her work aside and called for Cynthia again. The said girl appeared by the open doorway beside the bench, a dusting of flour was evident on her black hair.

“Take this upstairs and keep it under lock and key,” she told the younger girl.

“Yes, Miss Callum.” Cynthia replied and took the box from her mistress.

“Speaking of Afternoon Tea, would you like a light supper, Miss Frye?” Sarah inquired.

“Oh, I possibly can’t—”

“Please, I insist. I have a feeling that Mr. Frye will join us very soon.” 

Evie felt her shoulders relax at the mention of her twin brother. “All right, lead the way.” She gave her a courteous nod and followed Sarah to her apartment upstairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Historically, only the upper class can have their afternoon tea accompanied by a stroll around Hyde Park or around town. Jacob said that because he's either noting Sarah's well-mannered attitude, or he's just being himself again.
> 
> *Duchess Georgiana was reported to have died while deeply in debt. She was so scared of her husband discovering the actual amount that she kept it a secret. But when the 5th Duke of Devonshire saw her credit, he simply said "Is that all?" Talk about #GrowingUpRich
> 
> I named the title as such because of Sarah's function. Because if a 12 year old can oversee a network of spies and thieves, then surely an 18 year old can manage a network of agents that can report about the happenings in London. Her role is significant since she'll completely know what will happen after Jacob's missions.
> 
> Also, who has seen the gameplay for Jack the Ripper? I have, and my emotions cannot take it all. And even if they're going to announce who Jacob marries, I won't stop this fanfic or the next ones that I will publish. Everyone deserves Jacob Frye, including Roth.


	6. Over Tea and Cakes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie tries to learn more about their young ally. Jacob tries to impress Sarah with his heroic tale, but it backfires on him.

Sarah’s apartment was considered diversified. Her rooms also kept its jewel-like tones, but this time the walls were a sapphire blue, and the wooden floor panels were ink black. To contrast the strong colors, the couch and the chairs were intentionally orange and red, while various vases filled with different colored flowers had been strategically placed in areas where people would take notice. A pair of deer antlers were mounted on either side of the narrow fireplace, and a beautiful fawn greyhound was resting upon a white carpet.

“I must say, Miss Callum, you have an acquired taste.” Evie uttered, gaze quickly moving to the small library in the other room.

The said girl nodded her head in thanks. “Thank you, Miss Frye, but you must know that most of my belongings were...not easy to collect.” She then gestured for them to sit on the cushioned chairs beside the fire.

“I see. I’m sure it had been challenging for you.” The older twin said, making herself comfortable on the downy seat. 

“Only in the beginning; it takes a while to accept, but once you’ve fully committed your body and soul for the good of others, you will find it easy not to detest it any longer.” Sarah reached down and petted her dog by the head. “I believe the same can be said for your occupation, am I right, Miss Frye?”

“In some ways, Miss Callum.” Evie watched the young woman nod in understanding. Then, she saw the way her eyes tilted to the side, as if she wanted to say something else, but had decided not to talk of it. Before long, Cynthia appeared with a tray of tea and lemon cakes. Evie thanked the maid upon receiving her cup and portion of dessert while Sarah merely expressed her gratitude through smiles and gestures.

After taking a sip of her drink, Evie spoke again, “Well, I believe Jacob has broken his promise to you: we are already engaging in Afternoon Tea and he has yet to show up.”

Sarah smiled into her cup. “I’m sure he has a reason, Miss Frye; I trust him to finish the job in any outlook possible.”

The two women were halfway into their dainty lemon cakes when Jacob finally returned. There were obvious signs of a scuffle on his person, Evie had to scold him with a glare. He explained that he tried to interrogate the Templar agent, in public nonetheless, when a group of Blighters arrived to assist the man. So he had no choice but to wrestle them into unconsciousness and then decided to chase down his target with a horse and carriage. Jacob arrogantly interpreted the scene of his hunt, and how he managed to beat the agent until he yielded almost everything, except the secret ingredient to his mother’s meat pie.

“Of course, the last one’s meant to be a joke.” Jacob told them afterwards.

Evie suddenly stood up from her chair. “Jacob, everything was completely unneccesary! You didn’t have to be straightforward with the target. Be discreet.”

“Well, I discreetly took this slice of cake while I was relating my tale to Lady Callum.” The young twin waved the said pastry at his sister’s face before taking a big bite out of it.

At that moment, Sarah set herself between the twins, and offered a third cup to Jacob. “Please, there will be none of that in my home.” She waited until the two were unfettered.  
“Mr. Frye, thank you for retrieving the money.” She took the coffer from him, and then turned to the older twin. “Miss Frye, if you recall, I said that I would trust your brother to finish the job in any outlook possible, even if his methods do seem reckless and tricky.”

Jacob’s proud smirk and sly gaze were begging to be wiped off his face. Evie stayed her hand from smacking his brother, and quietly apologized to Sarah. The blonde girl walked away to put the coffer in a secure place, and returned with a pink card in hand.

“Should you ever be in the need of my services, please don’t hesitate to return.”

“Oh, I’m quite certain that we’ll meet again, Lady Callum.” Jacob said, with bits of crumbs sticking to his stubble.

Sarah looked at his face in quiet delight; she gently touched the right side of his jaw and removed the scrap from the corner of his lips. “After this event, I’m certain that we will, Mr. Frye.”

Jacob loudly cleared his throat to hide his timidity. “Well, we must be off then!”

“Wait,” Evie announced, much to his chagrin. “Miss Callum, do you know where we can find your partner, Clara O’Dea?”

“Yes, she can be found northeast from here. Just follow the laughter of children, and you’ll eventually find her.” Sarah told them.

The twins bid the young girl goodbye and left the bakery. She then moved to her window, where she watched the Assassins depart from the lane in silent admiration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Forgive me, this chapter was too short. I was busy thinking of another Jacob/OFC story, but I'm not sure if I should write it while this one is still incomplete.
> 
> And on to other news: I finally had the courage to play the Jack the Ripper DLC, and I an honestly glad that they never mentioned the name of Jacob's wife. Jack refers her in a letter, but even there no name is said or written.
> 
> Ubisoft is making my wildest dreams come true, and I hope they can keep that up for future AC games!


	7. Save the Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bribed by his sister, Jacob must rescue children from corrupt factories. Then he gets the surprise of his life when his dreams come true.

The Frye twins had followed Sarah’s advice and followed the sound of playing children. Evie and Jacob trained their eyes for any specific movement, especially those of urchins. In this area of Whitechapel, the buildings were rather tall and narrow, and jostled by its neighboring structures. Each open window showed a short tale of the individual residing inside of it: mothers with crying infants, fathers struggling to keep a sensible livelihood, and widowed parents trying to maintain a home for their offspring. Would they be able to liberate all of London by themselves? Evie glanced at her twin brother and began to ponder on his fantasy-like dream of starting a gang.

“Do you hear that?” Jacob asked his twin. 

They began to trail after the noise until they came upon a narrow alleyway, where orphans of different characteristics had gathered. Some, at the sight of the twins, quickly ran back into the buildings as if they had seen the Devil himself with a whip in his hand. Evie and Jacob descended down a flight of stone steps, but were careful not to intimidate the children surrounding them.

“What is this place?” Evie inquired.

A dark-haired girl in a dark green dress then approached the two with a self-confidence that somewhat resembled her partner. “It’s nice to meet you both at last.”  
“Clara O’Dea, I presume?” Evie said and the girl nodded.

“This is Babylon Alley. Here, we make it our business to know the streets, and provide children with the opportunity to control their own destinies.”

“Clara, Mr. Green said we might be able to help one another?”

“In exchange for our services, we ask a small favor.” Clara told them.

“Well, why not?” Jacob abruptly spoke. For some reason, he must have recognized the child thief that took his shillings from earlier. “You seem to have taken most of my money, why not take a small favor too?” Evie instinctively raised a hand to stop her brother from charging forward.

Clara, however, was clever enough to ignore him and focused more on his sister instead. “There are several factories about the city that are powered almost entirely by child labor. Those children work long hours, with little pay, and most are not permitted even to leave the factory grounds. They suffer terribly, and I need you to save them.” 

“A small favor?” Jacob mocked the little girl, and Evie had to restrain him once more.

“In return, we offer you intelligence. Something you clearly need.” There was definitely a pun in there, but only Evie and a few children managed to comprehend that.

“Now, hold on a minute—”

“I’m late for an appointment,” Clara interjected and faced the older twin. “What of these terms?”

“We accept.” Evie declared. The girl spat onto her hand, and the female Assassin did the same, and both shook their wet hands to seal the deal.

“Pleasure doing business with you!” Once Clara had returned to whatever game they were playing, the twins went their way back to the residential vicinity.

“Can you not shut your mouth for a second?” Evie nearly growled at her brother.

“What was I to say then? Oh, I’ll do what you’ll ask of me, in the mean time take whatever I have left in my pockets, will you?” Jacob angrily explained. 

Evie had to scoff at his behavior. “Please, Jacob, you act more like a child than them!” she said, and then impishly added, “tell you what, since you’re so anxious to help Clara, I’m letting you rescue the children in the nearby factory.”

Jacob almost stumbled. “Are you taking the piss out of me?”

“Yes, I am.” Evie stated haughtily. “Now go infiltrate the nearest warehouse, and liberate any helpless children.”

“And if I don’t?” Jacob raised a brow at her threat.

“I’m sure Miss Callum would be clearly upset if she found out about your disagreements with her dear partner.” To affirm her point, Evie took out a pink business card from her pocket and waved it in front of Jacob’s face.

“Fine, but you should play your part as well. I’m only one man!” Jacob said as he took to the roofs and searched for the nearest factory.

He was not going to stop and ask for directions this time. It was rather easy to locate a workplace because of the thick black smoke that they give off from their giant chimneys. Jacob leaped from one ledge to another, and stopped himself in time to see that a group of Blighters were guarding the area. He placed his flat cap into his jacket and pulled his hood over his head. The Blighter guarding the main entrance was a brawny old fellow, but he can be done away effortlessly like all of his other kills.

Once the man turned away, Jacob jumped down from the edge of the house, and made his way up to his target. The assault was quick: he simply jabbed his hidden blade into the man’s neck, and dragged the body behind a stack of crates. He then slipped through the doorway, quickly finding a place to hide while evaluating the number of Blighter guards on each floor. There were at least one guard for each, and there was also a Templar agent bearing the red insignia of their Order.

“What a lucky day,” Jacob muttered as he took out a couple of knives from his jacket. With a quick execution, he launched a knife onto the nearby Blighter, and the blade emedded itself in the gang member’s neck. The choking sound he made garnered the attention of his colleague, who hurried over to check on the disturbance. Jacob moved stealthily behind his new target and got rid of him as well.

“Two down, one more to go.” He eyed the Templar agent from his position and thought of the quickest route to reach him.

Jacob tossed himself over the mezzanine and glided along the railings, over to where the agent stood perfectly for his next attempt. He waited for the opportunity; the Templar was walking towards him. The minutes he had crossed his sight, the Assassin reached over, blade still released, and stabbed him by the back of his neck. Jacob quickly grabbed on to what little clothing he had in his grasp, and hurled the dead man over the ledge.

“All right, time to set the children free.”

The working children, who had seen the gruesome fiasco, were a little frightened when he approached them, but when he told them about Babylon Alley and the hope of freedom, they quickly changed their expressions and greatly thanked him for setting them free. Jacob guided them outside, where they quickly scattered about like sparks from a bonfire. He puffed his chest with pride and quickly returned to Evie, who was waiting for him beside a carriage she had likely pilfered.

“Well, I’m nearly done for the day.” Jacob said with a yawn. “I ough to find a place that will suit my needs, maybe somwhere near a bakery down in Rosemary Lane.”

“Jacob, before you go skylarking for Miss Callum’s attention, I need you to hear this first: we might be able to form your little gang after all.” Evie had never seen Jacob’s eyes widen that big. He looked like a child who received a special birthday present.

“Are you serious?” He asked, unconvinced. “Evie, is this one of your tricks again?”

“Obviously, no. I’ve reviewed the Templar operations here in Whitechapel, and I have come to the conclusion that we need allies to completely oppose the Templar influence.” Evie reasoned meticulously to her brother.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “Then what are we waiting for?”

“We’ll head down to the Blighters’ stronghold and destroy their base. Hopefully, Kaylock will be there.”

“You’ve read my mind,” Jacob grinned. The Frye twins quickly mounted the carriage and drove off towards their next mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm a little delayed because I got sick due to the weather. (I'm really sensitive to the changes in temperature i.e, hot to cold, and vice versa)
> 
> This felt more like a filler than an actual part to the main storyline, to be honest. By the way, I watched Kingsman all over again, and I thought of Jacob being Eggsy because he can totally snag the role, with Evie being Roxy, and maybe Henry being Merlin. (And Roth can be Valentine.)
> 
> Also, 'taking the piss' is actually a popular British slang that means to mock something or someone, so Jacob was being a natural Brit.
> 
> Thank you for the kudos and the comments everyone!


	8. Introduction to the Black Market

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah helps Jacob to find an investment in the crooked line of business.

The Olive Branch heeded to a strict timetable. As the sole proprietor of the establishment, Sarah had to rise at five in the morning and prepare the workstations of her own staff. While most would view it as unbecoming of their employer, she insisted that old habits were often difficult to abandon at command. After a light breakfast of brioche and cream, she put on a pinafore apron over her usual artisan dress, and went out to the courtyard to gather some firewood for the ovens. Around five-thirty, the carter arrived to deliver her purchase of baking flour, sugar, milk, and other essential additives needed for today.

By six, her workers came, and everything was quickly falling into its usual situations. Sarah helped whenever she could, telling them if the dough was fine enough to be put into the fire, or if the cake batter still had tiny bubbles on its surface. She then proceeded to unlock the door and receive the eager early birds into her bakery. Cynthia was quick to handle the money as it went back and forth on her counter; a look of raptness was clear on her pinched face, so Sarah let her be. And by eight, the bakery fell into a relative ease.

“Richard,” Sarah called out to one of the older employees. The grey-whiskered man approached her after patting his hands clean on his apron. “I have an order of dinner rolls for a Mrs. Jenner this afternoon. Two dozen, it seems. Can you manage it?”

“Of course, Miss Callum.” Richard took the note and tucked it into his back pocket.

As the young girl returned to her account books, the bell by the door rang, and she looked up to see Jacob Frye making a grand entrance. She quickly set her belongings to the side, a gesture that meant her other particular business was open for him.

“Congratulations on your victory!” she said with a genuine smile. She had heard the news from her informants the other day: Kaylock is now dead, and there were no more Blighter influence in Whitechapel.

“And what a victory it was,” Jacob retorted with his boyish charms. “Now, onto more important matters concerning this new gang called the Rooks and their reputed leader, who is believed to be devilishly handsome and dashing.” Sarah leaned forward and pulled down Jacob’s flat cap to cover his smug face.

“Before you start announcing unnecessary things to all of London, we have to be certain about this new territory you have acquired.” She watched as the Assassin fixed his cap, but began to listen to her, all the same. “First off: you need to own businesses that will bring in earnings for you and your Rooks. The Blighters had often claimed pubs and inns, so we will start there, and I know just the right person for such vocation.”

“I knew I could trust you, Lady Callum.” Jacob said in low whisper.

Sarah parted her lips, as if to retort, but all she did was to gape at the man before her. “Cynthia, I’ll be heading out with Mr. Frye!” she called out to her assistant.

She took off her pinafore and placed it upon a brass hook, and strolled out of the bakery with Jacob trailing behind. He offered his arm, and she accepted it with a grateful nod. They walked in a leisurely pace since the Assassin didn’t have anything else to do while the train was being renovated to fit their likings. He then began to tell her about the fight with Kaylock and his newly acquired grappling hook. Before long, Sarah led him down Myrdle Street, which was just as cramped as the others, and she showed him to a freelance tailor shop named Percival & Co.

“I didn’t think you were serious about my clothes.” Jacob commented.

“That is another topic to discuss for later, Jacob. Come on, let’s head inside, shall we?” Sarah moved away from him and entered the store.

From the instant he stepped into the room, Jacob knew that the place was one of Sarah’s, if the emerald green walls were not much of a clue. The gentleman standing behind the oak counter greeted them both with a jolly hello, and told them about the new silk textiles and cravats that were on sale. Sarah looked back at her companion and measured him with her eyes. Jacob simply stared back in confusion until she returned to the clothier.

“We’ll probably need an entire collection made for this one, Mr. Gaine.” Sarah explained as though Jacob was a special patient in an asylum. Mr. Gaine nodded happily and jotted down notes into his book.

“Excellent. Please put it under a new tab, and have it signed under Jacob Frye.”

Before Jacob could figure out what was going on, Sarah grabbed him by the hand and lead him into a Dressing Room. The room was scant, with only a mirror and a table to occupy the lingering area. They stood there for a moment. He gradually realized how Sarah appeared at this close proximity—her face was round; either suggesting her youth or perhaps that was its intentional shape. The light managed to capture her eyes and showed its true colors: they were the kind of green that reminded him of a wide open field in the summer. His mouth was just inches away from touching the crown of her head, and he could feel her soft breaths stroking his skin. Jacob cleared his throat and brought Sarah out of whatever thoughts she had in mind.

“This is...an interesting situation,” he said it to lift the awkwardness surrounding them.

“Quite,” Sarah hummed in reply. “Can you pull down that hook over there?”

Jacob glanced over his shoulder to see the wooden peg that she indicated. He reached over and pulled it down, then the sound of whirling mechanism awashed the small room. A loud click followed, and a door opened to reveal a staircase leading to the upper floors. Sarah thanked him quietly that he almost had to lean closer just to hear it. They went up to the rooms on the first floor and stopped at one particular door.

“What is this place?” Jacob had to inquire. He needed a building of this sophistcation once he usurps all of London for the Assassins.

“This, Mr, Frye, is what I fondly call the Family Parlor.” Sarah opened the door and gestured him to follow her. The apartment was overflowing with people of varying races, ages,  
and characteristics, but all served as informants, messengers, and hired muscle for the young bakery owner. 

Jacob took all of this with increased enthusiasm, taking mental notes whenever he can. He watched Sarah move toward the padded window seat, where a giant of a man sat in the shadowy corner smoking a fat cigar. She bent down to say something into his ear, and stepped aside to gesture towards the Assassin. The Goliath let out a loud guffaw that put every activity to a standstill; he crushed his cigar in his hand and stood up from his seat.

“So yer the lad who finally put Kaylock to sleep, eh?” his voice was hoarse and loud. “And now ye’ve got a gang of yer own. Tell me, are ya gonna continue where that bastard left off, or ya gonna be a whole other nightmare for the rest of these folks?”

Jacob realized that the entire parlor was looking at him now, waiting for a good answer. He saw Sarah taking a seat near the window, and scrutinized him cautiously. The Assassin raised both his hands in surrender and began—

“I am neither. I am not here to cause more tyranny amongst the poor. The gang I have formed will stand against oppression, and make sure that these streets will never harm any of you ever again.”

The Goliath sneered at the young man, looking prepared to throw him out of the window, before he put out a gloved hand toward him. Jacob swallowed the tension and eventually shook hands to mark their alliance. 

“A pleasure to meet ya at last, Mr. Frye.”

“A pleasure to meet you too, Mister...?”

“Timothy Gollach, but most people call me Tim. Go on, have a seat, Lil’ Sarah here says ya need a lot of people to uphold yer resistance against Starrick.” Tim said as he took out a new cigar from a steel box.

“He needs to build a strong foundation in Whitechapel, Tim, which means that we can now have unhindered access to the Black Market.” Sarah said.

“Aye, that’d be true. But, I guess we should be cleanin’ up Whitechapel after the Blighters, and make it nice and clean for the new gang.”

Sarah nodded in understanding. Jacob soon joined into their conversation and quickly picked up the importance of having dependable contacts in the Underworld of London. Tim told him of the possible discounts should the agent be associated with their group, and added that there were only a few blokes who can provide satisfying ammunition and supplies to the Rooks.

“Tim, earlier today I told Jacob about starting his investments with pubs, and I know one particular drinkery that we could purchase as our first property.” Looking up at her friend from beneath her long lashes, Sarah smiled with a hidden intention.

Again, Tim guffawed. “Oh, my wee darlin’, if only your Father could see you now.” 

“He’d be proud of his princess,” she replied with a shake of her head. “Well, now that we have established another strong relation, we should be heading back to the Olive Branch.”

“Thank you again for your help, Tim.” Jacob remarked and tipped his head in thanks.

“Anytime, me boy. Once ya’ve installed enough on pubs and taverns, don’t be afraid to seek Ol’ Tim out, ya hear?” They shook hands once more, with each tightening their grip as a playful way to show off their masculinity.

Sarah and Jacob shortly found themselves back on Rosemary Lane still excited from the recent business transaction. Cynthia duly gave her reports, including that of the delivery, and asked if they needed refreshments. Sarah asked her to fetch some tarts and fine china. The two stood there by the table, echoing the moment they had inside the dressing room. Jacob tapped his fingers on the wood while Sarah focused her gaze on the rack of freshly baked loaves.

“I’d like to thank you, by the way.” Jacob blurted out.

Sarah smiled and stared up at him. “We still have more work to do, Jacob. This is merely the beginning of it all.”

“I know, but really, if it weren’t for you I wouldn’t have an inkling on how to run a gang.” He confessed.

“I’m quite certain that you’ll conform to that lifestyle very quickly. You have intentions, and I know they are mostly good.” She said, placing a dainty hand on his gloved one.

Jacob lightly squeezed her fingers in reply. When Cynthia suddenly presented them with the circlet of delicate pastry set on brightly painted china plates, the two withdrew their hands and had their treats in awkward silence. They remained hushed until the bell rang again to signify a new customer. Evie Frye strolled into the bakery and instantly centered her attention to her twin brother.

“Jacob.” Her brother turned with a look that suggested indignation. “We still have that scheduled meeting with Mr. Bell. We have to go while there’s still time.”

“Do we have to?” Jacob practically whined. His sister glared hard enough for him to stand upright again. “Fine, but can you wait for me outside?” With a huff, Evie walked back outside and stood near the carriage she had pilfered.

Sarah felt the rough pads of fingers touching her wrist. She kept her gaze on the floor, portraying the classical image of a young girl gently accepting the initial act of courtship. Jacob adjusted his stance to hide the scandalous contact from his sister and any curious eyes in general.

“Can I visit you again tomorrow?” he asked her.

“Of course, we still have several matters to deliberate, Mr. Frye.” Sarah told him softly. She ogled his devilish grin and committed it to memory.

He lifted her hand up to his face and pressed his lips onto her knuckles. “Farewell for now, Lady Callum.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, you're going to notice more Kingsman references in this chapter because I couldn't help myself. Sorry~!  
> I almost forgot that Gang Upgrades included the Black Market and all sorts of shady business, so this is entirely important. Jacob invests in everything, including tea and pub games.
> 
> I don't know if I was going too fast with the relationship flow, but hey, since it's near chapter ten, might as well speed it up a little for the love of Hot British guys and their equally Hot British looks. (I should probably remove that Eventual Romance tag)
> 
> Also, I've finally found a good FaceClaim for Sarah Callum, and I've chosen: Jayne Wisener (the girl who played Johanna in Sweeney Todd, for those who are not familiar with her) I love her, and I thought that she'd be perfect as the young and adventurous Sarah :)


	9. The Gilded Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first property that Jacob owns has a startling history which changes his perspective for Sarah Callum and the Templar reign in London.

They had renamed the establishment as The Bleeding Heart and left it to decay with time. Tim sneered and scowled at the sight. He thought of the Blighters like spoiled children: they loved to play with their food, chew it up, and spit it back out. The same could be said for the properties they forcefully took from the honest people. He believed it was some sort of sign from the heavens; that the alehouse would rather rot in their care than remain as an infamous watering hole for the real criminals.

Tim peeked around the corner of the house. He searched for any surviving Blighters that might have hid in the Bleeding Heart as a safe haven. So far, there had been only three. There was a high possibility that they will flee to the next territory to save themselves, but the Rooks of Whitechapel and their tough Boss were not taking any bloody chances. Those who actually did try to oppose the new gang were negotiated with a nice long talk, and a nasty beating courtesy of eager members that wanted the approval of their leader.

Earlier that afternoon, Sarah had requested another meeting at the Family Parlor with Tim. As usual, the place was brimming with their members. Some played cards, others talked and laughed with no control, and several more had carelessly napped where they sat, exhausted from running errands all day long. Sarah was dressed up in a white gown with red sleeves that had wide slits at the elbows, allowing her chemise to spill through like a budding flower.

“It woulda been much easier for everyone if the man ‘ad given up the Deed.” Tim grunted as he ambled over to his seat. The floorboards shook with each heavy step he took. “Unfortunately for ‘im, he though’ it’d be good to withhol’ the damn thing like it was his bloody newborn.”

Sarah shook out her skirts and stayed comfortable as she could in her artistic attire. Cymbeline, her precious fawn greyhound, stayed by her feet like the loyal dog he is. “That is an unseemly comparison, Tim. There’s no need to bring infants into this talk. And as for this Mr. Steel, surely we can all sit down and have a little chat first.” she said.

“We’re not one for the diplomatic approach, Yer Highness.” Tim grumbled.

“The correct term is Your Majesty,” Sarah sighed nonchalantly. She reached for the small watch around her neck to check the hour. “Mr. Frye will be here any moment, so we must devise a reliable plan by then.”

“The boy’s a firework waitin’ to burst. Ya can’t negotiate with ‘im, ‘less we’re talkin’ about profit and nasty brawlin’.”

“I very much prefer if the alehouse remains untouched, Tim. Yes, Mr. Frye is foolhardy, but I trust that he can restrain himself when it needed be.”

“Oh good, and ‘ere I though’ ya brought a second collar and leash for the rough lad.” Sarah shook her head at him, but let out a soft giggle, nonetheless.

They were swift in forming the plan: bargain with Mr. Steel over the tavern and convince him to join the Rooks as the new keeper. The three Blighters, however, was another case. Jacob, much like Sarah, will try to see if he could sway them over a good conversation. He received a round of laughter from the group he had dubbed as Sarah’s Little Helpers; thankfully, they all quieted down after their mistress shot them with a stern scolding. Officially, they were linked with the Rooks, but their loyalty still lies with Sarah Callum, similar to that of Clara O’Dea and the urchins. Nevertheless, there were also those who were willing to join the Frye twins, and had donned the green jacket and yellow sash that formerly belonged to the Whitechapel Clinkers.

Now, Tim and his band of broad-shouldered thugs were waiting for their leaders to arrive. Two Blighters, both males in their blazing red jackets, had posted themselves outside while one brawny brute was having a conversation with Mr. Steele inside the alehouse. Down the lane, he caught sight of Jacob and Sarah casually yet hastily making their way on the opposite side so as to not garner any attention from the enemies on the other side. Sarah tugged on the chain leash of her dog while Jacob tactfully opened the door for them. The pair disappeared inside the dilapidated building, and all they could do now was wait. Tim lit up the usual fat cigar to smoke his uneasiness away. While he knew that Jacob could hold his own in a fight, he worried that Sarah might tangle herself up in a scuffle. Since the girl could barely raise her fists, he brought it onto himself to protect her from any sort of danger. Be it Blighters or lovestruck suitors.

After a span of ten minutes, they heard Cymbeline’s boisterous bark, followed by three loud gunshots and things being tossed around. Then, the main door burst into splinters as the Blighter brute crashed through, and was sent tumbling into the cobblestone streets. His associates ran to check on him, only to realize the colossal man was unconscious. Jacob stepped out of the Bleeding Heart with a priggish grin whereas Sarah had a neutral look on her childish face.

“I did mention that we came unarmed, but that doesn’t mean we came unaccompanied.” Jacob commented as he stood up to the Blighter pair.

Tim signaled his band to follow him. They emerged from their hiding spot like roaches, along with the five or so Rooks that escorted their Boss. The men in front of them could be pissing in their trousers right about now, and one of them suddenly fell to his knees and begged to be spared.

Jacob rolled his eyes at the scene. “Oh come on, show a little dignity, will you?” he said. “Since your big friend over there has refused to be part of my gang, I’m wondering if you two gents would be kind enough to take my offer?”

“Yes! I want to be part of the Rooks, please! I’ve always loathed the Blighters anyway!” the nervous young man exclaimed. His partner, however, has not uttered a word yet.

“And what about you, lad? Will you join the Rooks, or are you going to remain as a thievish Blighter?” A few of the Rooks cracked their knuckles, ready to beat the piss out of the lone opponent.

With a puffed chest, the younger man replied, “I will not join the Rooks.”

Sarah hastily grabbed on to Jacob’s sleeve to prevent him from giving the brutal signal. “Let him finish,” she said thoughtfully.

“But, I am not a Blighter any longer,” the boy concluded. To support his explanation, he took off his jacket and threw it over the body of his sleeping comrade.

“Are you certain? My gang will be far different than yours, for sure.” Jacob reasoned.

“Thank you for the generous offer, but I really am fed up with all of this stupid nonsense. I joined in because the Blighters threatened to hurt my Mum and burn down my house. The subject of violence isn’t my cup of tea, if you get what I’m saying, sir.”

Jacob approached him dauntingly until he placed a firm hand on his shoulder, eliciting a surprised gasp from the juvenile gang member. “I understand. However, if you’re ever in the need of monetary support for your Mum, head to the Olive Branch Bakery for a good helping of tart and some warm tea.” In the background, Sarah smiled tenderly at his benevolent statement.

“Umm, thank you?” He was hesitant in leaving, although one quick glance to his nervous companion and he bolted off with a satisfied smile.

While Jacob initiated another helpless soul into the Rooks, Tim advanced towards Sarah and asked what had happened inside the alehouse. She regarded him for a moment, almost as if she was forming a different scenario in her head, but the Scot was uncertain.

“We talked with Mr. Steele for a moment, but that Blighter over there didn’t like our deal. Therefore, our intended keeper is now dead.” She told him, her gaze ghosted over to the broken doors of the Bleeding Heart. Tim abruptly placed an arm around her shoulders and led her someplace else.

“I’ll ‘andle negotiations from here. Ya get back to Percival and order a new dress or sumthin’. Don’ come back ‘til ye’ve got a big smile on yer face, ya hear?” Tim said.

“What about Jacob?” Sarah asked. Cymbeline glanced from one person to the other, wondering why they weren’t continuing their stroll.

“I can ‘andle Mr. Frye too. Now, go on! Shoo!” The young woman let out a sarcastic sigh before turning away.

“Where is Sa—I mean, Miss Callum going?” Jacob inquired when he noticed his female companion was gone from his side.

“None o’ yer business, Mr. Frye.” Tim growled.

“It is my business considering that she and I are partners for the day.” Jacob remarked, standing his ground like the Assassin he was.

“No.” The Goliath’s jaw took on that obstinate angle that was more bark than bite.

The young Frye twin heaved a dramatic sigh. “ Very well, then. I will go ask her myself and leave you here to clean up everything like the good Little Helper you are.”

The tension was so thick it affected the people around them. The Rooks quickly picked up on the energy that their Boss radiated while the other group cracked their knuckles. “All right,” Tim snapped. “I’ll tell ye, but not ‘ere. C’mon, we oughta check the place, see wha’ we can do about it.”

Jacob did not move from his position at first, then he nodded and tailed after Tim into the unimproved alehouse. The wood had lost all of its luster, leaving behind a structure that could fall over any minute. The bottles and glasses on the shelves have collected dust, and a giant rat scurried its way past their feet. Jacob yelped a little in surprise and promptly kicked the pest out of his path. Tim had gone around the bar and was searching for something along the wall.

“There was supposed to be a door ‘ere,” he muttered. “Bastards must’ve sealed it shu’ when they ransacked tha’ place.”

The Assassin behind him hummed in response before activating his preternatural Sight. Within the Grey Area, he could see that Tim had turned white, recognizing him as a neutral ally. He scanned the entire room until he saw a luster of gold behind the shelves.

Jacob blinked once and his normal sight returned. “It’s hidden behind the rack,” he said.

“Shit. I might need ‘elp with this,” Tim huffed.

“Don’t bother: just tear the thing off. It looks flimsy as paper.”

“Right.”

With his large hands, the giant Scot grabbed a hold off the shelf and harshly took it down. Plenty of bottles crashed down onto the floor, but neither of the men cared when they saw the faint outline of a door in front of them. Tim was quick to break the board that blocked the access as well. Without a doorknob to keep it in place, the door opened on its own. Jacob entered , and was assaulted by a barrage of cobwebs and balls of dust. He mounted the creaky old stairwell, pushing aside anything that dared to hinder his stride.

The windows on the first floor had been boarded up, and the Assassin dutifully removed each and every timber to let in the sunlight. Tim made his way up after extinguishing his cigar downstairs. He looked over to the four plain doors to his left and was surprised to find all them were unlocked. The Blighters had left everything to decomposition.

“I’ll check the room down there, you start over here.” He told Jacob, who nodded quietly.

The young man stepped into the first room and instantly deduced that it was a boudoir. The array of perfume bottles had long evaporated while the cosmetics had turned hard over the time they were unused. There two settees, one chaise, and a wardrobe nestled in the far corner of the room. Jacob picked up one of the framed photographs on the table and wiped the layer of grime from its glass covering. It was a family consisting of three— one father, one mother, and a baby girl all dressed up in laces and ruffles.

He continued to the next room, which evidently belonged to a girl. The four poster bed was draped in pink and white lace, and there was something strange nestled amongst the faded, moth-eaten sheets: it was a skeleton of a cat. Jacob could feel his spine shiver a bit. He approached a lone writing desk and thought of his twin sister Evie, who’d often warn him not to touch her belongings. 

A small pocket book caught his attention: Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare. Jacob was careful to pat the little volume against the table, and inspected its pages, expecting the yellowed paper to crumble in his hand. But that did not occur, and he was slightly glad for it. After searching the entire bedroom, Jacob wandered into what was supposedly the Sitting Room of the household. What was interesting about it was that the walls had been orange, which was quite an unusual selection for a middle-class home. Tim was bent over near the window, trying to wipe the dirt off the face of a painting. Upon finishing it, Jacob saw the same family from the photograph, but the difference was that the parents had aged while the baby girl—

“Wait a minute.” He came closer to the painting and stared at the subjects with interest. The father was a proud-looking gentleman with groomed auburn hair and a moustache. His wife was undeniably a beautiful woman that had golden locks flowing down her side, and bright green eyes that sparkled like jewelries. And as for their daughter, she inherited every bit of her mother, from her hair all the way to her flushed cheeks.

“This house is it...?” Jacob let the question hang in the air when he saw Tim’s expression of forlorn and bitterness.

“Mr. Callum and his wife used to own this place. But, it wasn’t called the Bleeding ‘eart. It was the Gilded Cage.” Tim explained. “I was a patron ‘ere, and I remember that every folk liked the alehousekeeper and his cle’er little wife, even more so when they ‘ad a daughter that they treated like a princess. One mornin’, the wife died from consumption. It left Mr. Callum a broken man, but ‘e kept goin’for his lil’ girl. Until those Blighters came along, and threa’ned them to ‘and over their profits. They said Mr. Callum refused, and ‘e was killed the next day. Found his body in an alley, skull bashed in like an egg.”

Jacob looked at the portrait once more. “And what of the daughter?” he timidly inquired.

Tim let out a sigh through his nostrils. “She was young. She didn’t know wha’ to do after. So she ran. She ran to the East End, and found ‘er home amongst the beggars and urchins. I found her three years later, nearly dying of cholera. I called for a doctor but the man was a bloody sod! ‘E had the medicine, but said that I didn’t ‘ave the money to provide it!” 

An image of a young helpless Sarah entered Jacob’s mind, writhing helplessly as her illness trounched her entire body. He thought of her reaching out to ask for help only for the people to push her away because of her misfortune.

“But a miracle ‘appened one summer,” Tim continued. “When I returned to check on ‘er, ‘er cot was surrounded by bottles of medicine that the doctor refused to give me. Ya see, Mr. Frye, Sarah has always been a quiet girl. Even when she was a wee babe, she would barely make the sligh’est sound that it often worried ‘er parents. So she uses that and ‘er burnin’ will to survive in order to sneak into the apothecary, and steal the tonics under his stuck-up nose.”

“Any man would do what was needed to live.” Jacob stated. “And to think she had done that all on her own.”

“Sarah is a fighter in her own approach, Mr. Frye. And I suggest ye start changin’ yer perspective of ‘er now, ‘acause that is no lady that yer dallyin’ with. She knows what its like to ‘old somethin’ precious in your ‘eart and ‘ave it taken from you.”

And perhaps his views did change right after the reveal. Once he was outside, Jacob took out the small sketch of Sarah from his jacket pocket. It was wrinkled from being folded and tucked for too many times. He could see her clearly in his mind, smiling and shying away from his advances. They’d done no more than hold hands, but the ardor was there. She had freed herself from her own Hell in the beginning, and had dedicated the rest of her second life to help others from experiencing the same torment. But how could she fulfill her mission if the Templars continued to exist in London?

Jacob knew what he had to do now, what the purpose of the Rooks was to all of London: he will eradicate every Templar supremacy in the city, and leave none of their marks in the face of history.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know Jacob came to London in order to eradicate every Templar he sees, but it just wasn't enough for me. So I took this idea from my useless brain, and pushed it into this chapter. Hopefully, you'll find that it will connect with the storyline. (Because I want Jacob Frye to cry out: "I DID IT ALL FOR YOU!")
> 
> At first, I was planning to make Tim Gollach as Sarah's cousin, but then I settled with him being a good friend of her father's. Also, I based the silent attribute from a dear friend of mine who was so quiet you'd really have to ask if she's there or not (and she's great for every Halloween Party)
> 
> Also, I almost forgot, here's what I imagined Sarah's dress to look like: http://www.jwwaterhouse.com/view.cfm?recordid=89
> 
> This is likewise the second longest chapter I've written (first being the previous) I hope you all like it! Please leave a comment or a kudos and advanced Happy New Years to you guys~!


	10. A Little Reprieve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Evie have a little argument at the Hideout.

The train had been stationed in Whitechapel for the while that it was being renovated. Jacob had to grin every time he went inside the locomotive. It belonged to the Fryes now, so it was re-designed to fit their needs, personal and otherwise. He couldn’t wait to show this off to Sarah. After that occurence at the Bleeding Heart, Tim announced that the young bakery owner was going to put her own savings on the line since the neither of the Frye twins have amassed funds for its upkeep. And he was starting to miss her already.

As the Frye twins and Henry Green entered their hideout, Jacob saw a well-dressed lad talking animatdly to Agnes MacBean. While his attire was sharp and reeked of affluence, his accent and mannerisms were far from the typical English characteristic.

Evie, however, did not seem to notice their unexpected guest. “Now that we’ve finished with that distraction—”

“Who is that?” Jacob rudely pointed out. When his two companions did not reply, he had to put on a mocking look. “Oh, you mean...you don’t know?” the question was obviously aimed at Henry, who supposedly knew every quirky individual in London. Over the Indian’s shoulder, Evie shot back an annoyed glare at her brother.

Soon enough, the visitor stepped up to them, smiling widely like any sort of businessman that understood good industry when he sees one. “Beautiful train you got here,” he said. “Miss MacBean was just telling me all about her. Name’s Ned.” He held out a hand to Henry first, and the man shook it firmly. 

“How do you do?” Ned simply nodded in reply.

“I won’t take up more of your time. If you want to learn a thing or two about the finest transit systems in the world, you can find me at this address.” He then took out a card and handed it over to Evie. Jacob tried to take a peek at it, but his twin drew the item further away from his grasp. Their guest then made his exit, and all three were left alone for now.

“Well then, as I was saying, let us return to locating the Piece of Eden.” Evie said as she walk around their Office.

Upon hearing those last three words, Jacob scoffed and scowled. “We need to reclaim London from Starrick. Who are my targets?”

The older twin quickly copied his expression. “It is not time for that yet, Jacob.”

“I didn’t come to London to hunt curios!” her brother retorted.

“First understand the dance, only then become the dancer.” Evie swiftly stated and saw the flash of ire in Jacob’s hazel-brown eyes.

“Ooh, so you’re taking over where Father left off.” He spitefully mocked her.

“Someone has to.”

Unbeknownst to them, Henry had been busy setting everything up for both of the twins. He organized a target board for Jacob while a desk was ready to occupy Evie’s findings. Fortunately for him, he had finished putting the last pieces of his work just before the debate grew hotter by the second.

“Evie,” he called out to the older Frye first, “finding the Precursor artifact will give us an insight into what the Templars intend.” He then lastly turned to the younger Frye, “Jacob, I have information about Starrick’s associates that should be of use to you. Here.” At last, the fire declined into small dying embers as the Twins parted ways—Evie set off to the desk to resume her investigations, whereas Jacob studied the pictures upon the wall. Inwardly, Henry sighed, happy to have put out the flames beforehand.

After taking a gander at the Templar Board, Jacob turned away just as the whistle blew to signify the departure of their train. At first glance, his sister wanted to turn around and say something, but the Assassin had already left the hideout in a brusque manner.

Evie exhaled tiredly and returned to her work. “He’ll probably run back to Miss Callum and whine about his grievances to her,” she muttered quietly. Then, to Henry, she said, “I’m sorry for earlier; Jacob has always been brash when it comes to hunting down Templars.”

“It is fine. I have known of many Assassins who are similar to him in ideals. Perhaps it is best for him to seek a bit reprieve from Miss Sarah. After all, the two of you have been busy welding your retention here in Whitechapel. I believe that the stress has fully gone to his head.” Henry interpreted. The female Assassin did not miss the joke he intended, although she felt somewhat curious upon his amiable use of Miss Callum’s name.

“Is that alright with you? That my brother is dallying off his time with one of our allies?” She had to ask him.

“I see no issue in that. Miss Sarah has always been an acceptive girl. I don’t think she will regard your brother’s presence as a nuisance to her occupation.”

Evie nodded in understanding. “You seem to speak highly of Miss Callum.” She berated herself mentally. How could she say that to him? Hopefully, he did not pick up on the subtle force in her tone when she spoke. 

Henry looked a little surprised at that. “Well, that is what friends naturally do, Miss Frye. While Miss Sarah may seem carefree on the outside, she did not attain the life she has now without going through her darkest times. I can say that we are similar in thoughts, but that is where the correlation ends, for I simply see her as the sister I never had.”

“I see.” She left the dialogue there to shift her attention elsewhere; the tender sensation of relief in her chest caused her to feel a bit more of gladness as Henry stood by her side to aid in the search.

Meanwhile, in the quiet vicinity of Rosemary Lane, the younger Frye found himself lounging like a well-fed cat on a settee in Sarah’s Rooms. The owner of the apartment, however, was drowning in accounting books and invoices. Her blonde hair had been tucked into a ruffled mob cap to keep the tresses away from her eyes while she labored. Overall, it was a very monotonous afternoon, but Jacob was thankful for the quietude.

“How is the train coming along, Jacob?” Sarah inquired as she scanned paper after paper, and balanced names with their corresponding salaries.

“Oh, it is marvelous.” The young man replied with a deep sigh. The scratching of pen paused for a moment.

“Is there something wrong?” Sarah’s gentle voice wavered over to him.

“There is nothing wrong.” A moment of silence came over them after his harsh response. A chair creaked loudly as it was pushed back, and the Assassin was soon looking up at the worried look on her countenance. He swiftly got up and apologized to her, but she waved off his misgivings and gestured him to sit back down. Jacob did so, taking his flat cap off as a civil indication, regardless that he had failed to do so earlier when he arrived.

Sarah fixed her skirts before taking the empty seat beside her guest. “Did you get into a fight with Evie again?” she asked.

“Am I that obvious?” Jacob said, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Very. But I don’t think you should be ashamed of it.” Sarah patted his knee in assurance. “I once fought with Tim over a suitor of mine. He gave me quite a slap on the wrist for it, and I did not talk to him for days. In the end, we both learned to get over the exchange so we could help each other again.”

Jacob gently grasped her hand and ran his thumb over her knuckles. “Why are you so kind to me, Sarah?”

“Can I not be kind to anyone I fancy?”

“Well, you did release your hellhound upon me once.” Jacob visibly shuddered at the memory of Portia and her pox-marked cheeks.

Sarah let out a breathy laugh at his poor demeanor. “That was meant to test you and Evie. And it showed me that you’re one to put brawns first before comprehension.”

“All right, I suppose the last part is true, in a way.”

They remained in that position for a while, with the light snores of Cymbeline disrupting the peace every now and then. Jacob did not know why he had been so attracted to Sarah the very moment he saw her at the marketplace. There were other girls who could be prettier than her, but there was something about the deportment she carried that was almost similar to that of a high-class girl. 

And then there was the matter of her attitude: Jacob could have robbed her blind by now, and she would still choose to forgive him. While it was noble to some, such level of unselfishness was generally seen as a weak spot, and can be used against the person. Which is probably why Sarah was able to tread ever so carefully around Whitechapel and its criminals.

“Jacob.” Her voice brought him out of his musing. “Do you want to come with me?”

“Several times, if possible.” Jacob mumbled and purposefully coughed into his fist. “Excuse me. Uh, so where are we heading?”

“Down to Southwark. I’m going to teach you the wonders of stealth.” Sarah said, and eagerly tugged on his hand.

“Love, I knew how to sneak around by the time I was five.”

“But have you tried walking into enemy territory with your honest visage?”

Jacob appeared confused. “What, without prowling in the shadows, and stuff like that?”

“Yes.” He contemplated the idea of simply walking forward into a Blighter stronghold, say hello to their ugly faces, and then setting their headquarters on fire. How interesting.

“All right, you’ve managed to convince me. Let’s head out, shall we?”

Sarah got to her feet, dragging the younger Frye long with her. Jcob put on his cap as they rushed down the stairs, unable to keep their excited laughter to themselves. As they left, the elderly workers shook their heads and continued to knead and bake the bread.

“It’s been a long while since we last saw Miss Callum smile like that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I messed up. I messed up real bad. Because at the scene where they finally get their rope darts, they were supposed to be back in the train to meet Ned, but instead I had Jacob skip a day so he could buy that alehouse. (Actually, now that I think about it, my explanation is kind of what Jacob would actually do, so I'm safe?)
> 
> Ugh, Ned. The first time I saw him I was like, 'Holy scheisse, Ubisoft, you're really supporting the LGBTQ community in this one and I love it.' Also, I returned to the usual five-six page per chapter. But sometimes I can't help myself.
> 
> Since we have reached Chapter Ten, I am happy to announce that I have plans to make a Unity fanfic. (I'm going backwards into time, I know, but it's Rococo and the guillotine!) I kind of noticed that Arno practically disappeared off the face of the earth, and no one bothered to ask what happened to him, unlike Connor where people angrily kept asking Ubisoft about his later life. (Apparently, Connor had a cliche blonde wife, had kids, and then died alone)
> 
> I'll give you more updates on the upcoming fanfic on the next chapter of The Dove and The Rook. More adventures to come for Jacob and Sarah!


	11. To Ask For a Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Sarah try to understand their feelings for one another.

Ever since he was a young lad, Jacob had a wandering frame of mind that begged to be satisfied by any means necessary. Through that, he discovered the wonderful world of street fights and card tables, of bloodied fists and harsh scoldings by his Father and Evie. In his eyes, a scuffle was mere child’s play compared to the things he’d done in his youth. He loved the rush of energy flowing through his body; his mind alarming him of danger, and the feeling of his heart practically beating against his ribs. He lived for the adventure and its risk, every sunrise and sunset simply meant another chance to repeat that moment.

And yet, he sensed that activity coursing through his veins as he barreled through the compact assemblage of people in Whitechapel. Jacob must have elbowed a gentleman in the side when he stood in his path, for the said bloke glared down at him in repugnance, but what mattered at the moment was his currently missing companion. The Assassin looked about, careful enough not to mistake some other blonde woman for Sarah Callum. A crowd parted, giving him enough room to do a thorough search, and discovered she was not there at all. A nearby train whistled for the late passengers, offering them a few more seconds to board before it departs.

“Jacob!” the refined tone that called out to him was familiar, and Jacob turned around to see Sarah waving at him from one of the commercial carts. “Hurry! The train is leaving!”

The Assassin grinned. He jostled several unlucky people to the side, much to their chagrin, and he jumped into the open doorway just as the wheels of the locomotive grated with a high noise above the tracks. He tilted a little, forcing Sarah to step back and hit a wall. Letting out a frisky chuckle, Jacob took a step forward, and closed the gap between them. He observed how her lips parted slightly, and how she tried to shrink from his hot gaze. The rush in him steadied down to a chancy churning in his stomach. No, he wanted that unexplainable sentiment he felt a while ago. Perhaps if he should make a bold move now?

However, before he could lean closer, a loud cough broke through their spell, and the pair glanced towards the self-conscious patrons of the train. About two or three mothers tried to shush their giggling children while older men were shaking their heads in pleasantry. Sarah covered a shy smile with her fingers; she gestured for Jacob to follow her, and they both took an unoccupied seat at the farthest end of the caboose.

“You still haven’t told me where we’re going.” Jacob said and slouched back. He then put his dirty boots up on the available seat across them.

“It’s a surprise, Jacob.” Sarah teased.

“Come on, not even a hint?”

“No.” Her male companion pouted, but complied to her wishes, nonetheless.

They were sitting in comfortable silence until one pompous-looking old lady was caught observing them from her range. She was craning her head back to scrutinize them further. Jacob smirked at this, and an idea formulated itself in his head. He sat upright, then began to wrap an arm around Sarah, who, in her confusion, looked at him in surprise.

“I think we have an audience.” Jacob whispered to her.

“Oh.” Sarah gave a sideways glance to the gray-haired lady and made an impish smile. “A friend once told me that unhindered affection in public can make people nervous.”

Jacob returned her sentiment. “Let’s give them a show, shall we?” He heard her inhale deeply as he pressed the tip of his nose along the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Jacob, please. I’m ticklish there.” Sarah gasped when she felt his mouth on her skin.

Jacob began to plant soft kisses on her cheek, making sure that they were visible to anyone who was willing to look back at them. She stifled her laughter at his treatment, then, upon glancing back to their spectator, the old lady had now looked away from them with thin furrowed brows and a deep frown. Just as she turned her head, the tips of their noses touched, and Sarah found herself staring into his hazel-green eyes.

As a little girl, she had asked her parents how to distinguish if a person truly loved her: she remembered her Da choking on his tankard of beer while her Mother softly laughed.

“Well, ma wee princess,” her Da said after wiping the frothy drink off his bearded chin. “When I saw yer Mother, I thought the ‘Eavens themselves opened up to shine a bright light down on ‘er. Like any respectable gentleman, I visited her everyday to show ‘er parents ‘ow she means to me. O’ course, there were times I tried to make ‘er laugh with ma jokes and tales of voyages.” He fiddled with his moustache at that point. His wife simply hummed a lullaby as she stoked the fire in the hearth.

“But, in any case, ma wee princess. Any respectable lad would do what ‘e can to show ye ‘ow much ‘e cares. And yet, some o’ them are actually de’ils, so you be careful, ya hear?” Sarah had nodded, although she felt unsatisfied by the answer, so she asked her Mother about her feelings towards Da.

“Sarah, if you truly love someone, your heart will begin to leap like never before, and the pretty butterflies in your tummy will flutter more in happiness, because only they know who brings out the best in you. Moreover, you will feel as though the world itself is pushing you towards him. That is how I fell for your father, even though he still strived to impress me with his terrible jokes and sea shanties.”

She saw her Da scratch his head in confusion. “Really, Evangeline? I stayed up all night tryin’ to find a good shanty tha’ll suit ya!”

“And I thank you for your efforts, Magnus, but had you interpreted my gestures firsthand, perhaps we would have married three years earlier.” Her Mother said with light jest and took away his half-empty tankard. Looking at her daughter, she said, “Your father may not be the brightest man in all of England, but he has his charms.”

Sarah laughed as her Da picked her up and carried her back to her bedroom, where Puff the fluffy white Persian was waiting for them. “Can ya believe yer Ma? Tortured me for years with ‘er wits and well-educated words, when all along she was in love with me!”

“But isn’t that a good thing, Da?” Sarah asked while being tucked into bed.

“Aye, o’ course it is, ma wee princess. O’ course it is.”

Sarah blinked and found herself returning to the present. She felt her cheeks grow hot from Jacob’s closeness, and she decided to stare down at her lap instead. The young man chuckled, and settled with pulling her close to his side. She relaxed her posture until she rested her head against his shoulder; her very breath danced along his throat, and Jacob readjusted his position so she could remain snug beside him. The couple gradually drifted off to the sound of the rattling railways, of the passengers talking to themselves, and enjoyed the warmness each radiated.

Before long, the train made its stop in Waterloo Station. Sarah awoke first and gently nudged Jacob, who jumped with a start, but quickly remembered that he was in the borough of Southwark with Sarah. He led her out of the locomotive and helped her descend the small steps of the caboose. Like any commercial area, the place was crowded with Londoners, middle and upper class alike, for this was the Center of Economy.

“Jacob, over here!” The said man did not even notice the girl walking away from him.

Once they were outside, Jacob gladly allowed her to take his hand. She led him through the streets, easily squeezing through the crowds as though they were invisible phantoms. However, a lady dressed in a magenta gown dissected them closely and opted that they were not worth her courtesy after all. They soon found themselves surrounded by stores of every kind. The Assassin observed Sarah and the thoughtful look on her face, as if she was considering which shop to enter.

“Are you taking me out shopping?” Jacob raised a brow.

“Yes, I am.” Sarah looked back at him with a smile. “Ah, here we are.”

Jacob read the sign: William’s Confectionary Shop. “I thought we were going to sneak into Blighter territory?”

“The Blighters can perish another day. For now, I will show you how I actually work.”

They entered the shop, which was entertaining to numerous young customers at the hour. The shopkeeper had submerged himself in the latest periodical featuring ‘A Novel Gang—A new terror has conquered the borough of Whitechapel’. Little children and their aggravated mothers wandered about the store, mindlessly rummaging through the selection of sweets and delicacies. Sarah motioned for her companion to remain nearby, and guided him to look at the shelf that housed jars filled with colorful sherbet powder.

“The secret to my stealth, Mr. Frye, is to control your emotions. People who tend to panic in the slightest will give off fear, and that is the only sensation that anyone can detect. Furthermore, do not look at anyone straight in the eye, all right?” Sarah explained to him. “Now, I need you to relax your entire being, and simply watch me play.”

Little by little, Jacob watched as the good nature in Sarah’s green eyes disappeared and was masked by a toneless luster. She walked away from him with a motion to keep quiet. The manner in which she slithered through the stalls was intruiging: her hands carefully hovering over the confectionaries made Jacob hold his breath. Calm yourself, he thought. Sarah stopped just before the shopkeeper coughed into the paper. Obstructed by the furniture in front of him, Jacob couldn’t see what his partner was doing, but it made him feel the excitement from earlier.

Then, he saw Sarah beckoning him to do the same. Jacob took in a deep breath and removed his flat cap. He commanded his body to exude a serene behavior, but a drop of sweat rolled down the side of his face. The shopkeeper regarded his new customer with slight suspicion. The Assassin pretended to be interested at a glass case filled with rosewater-flavored Turkish Delights. Soon enough, the owner paid him no more notice. He sense a bit of coarseness touching his palm, and Jacob glanced down to see a bag being meticulously placed in his hand. By a child. The child in question winked once and quickly ran about the store, laughing aloud.

Again, Jacob steered himself to stay calm as he began to pick pieces of Turkish Delight. Upon feeling the meager heaviness of his pouch, he stepped back, still appearing like an average patron, and stepped outside, where Sarah was sharing her takings with urchins. Jacob eventually let out a loud sigh and breathed the fresh air.

“Well, did you enjoy it?” Sarah asked eagerly.

“While it wasn’t some dangerous mission involving guns and bloodshed, I actually quite enjoyed it.” Jacob said, opening his bag to pop a sweet into his mouth.

One of the children suddenly squeaked. “But he nearly pissed himself dry, Miss!”

Jacob scoffed, coughing out bits of wet powdered sugar. “I’ll have you know that I held it all in very well!”

“But I have to say, Mr. Frye, Turkish Delights on your first day. I’m quite impressed.” Sarah crooned as she plucked one of his spoils. In turn, she showed him her own plunder: sherbet lemons, butterscotch, and bonfire toffee.

“Ooh, butterscotch, my favorite.” Jacob declared like a happy child and had his helping. He ignored the urchins and caught Sarah’s natural smile instead.

“Sarah,” he said in a serious tone that it quickly captivated the young woman.

“Yes, Mr. Frye?”

“Would you kiss me?”

The urchins behind them loudly trilled like excited chicks in a nest. Jacob was swift to shoo them away, and they all escaped his humorous wrath, all while screaming in delight. Sarah stood in her place; her cheeks and ears had suddenly attained a rosy complexion, and her breathing hitched to a point where she had no idea what to do. She held her bag close to her chest, only to feel her heart hammering inside her ribcage.

“I really have to beg your pardon, Mr. Frye. Did I hear you correctly?” she inquired him.

“Not unless your hearing is clogged.” Jacob retorted. “Hold on, have you ever kissed a boy before?” he said, curious.

The blush on her cheeks deepened in shade. “No, I haven’t.”

“How wonderful! Somehow I knew you’d say that.” The Assassin smiled.

“Repeat the request again, Jacob.” Sarah murmured, and watched him carefully.

“Would you kiss me?”

“Do you mean it?” Suddenly shy and unsure, Jacob looked away.

“Jacob,” she said softly, bringing his gaze back to her. There was deep kindness there in her pretty cherubim features, and he was grateful for it. She took a step forward and stared into his face like a scientist figuring out the mysteries of the unknown.

“Yes, I mean it.” Jacob whispered.

“Why do you wish to be kissed?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Because I felt like it was appropriate.”

“I see.” Her lips pursed for a moment. “Unfortunately, I don’t think a kiss is proper after we’ve just stolen a bunch of sweets. I will not comply with your wish today, Mr. Frye, although I want you to think upon it further. After all, you could simply want to kiss me because I am merely a girl and you are a boy. If you still hold the same feelings for me the next time we do something exciting, I will kiss you then.”

Jacob seemed like he tasted a lemon. “Are you joking? If that is how you actually see me, you could’ve just said so from the beginning.”

“Oh, Jacob, don’t jump to conclusions so easily.” She soothed him, her hand catching his. “You’re so full of fire, you don’t see that you’re practically burning those around you.”

He took one glance at their entwined hands, and he sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to sound so harsh.”

“I will be honest with you: I’ve never had the chance to know what it is like to love. People will tell you that I’ve received many suitors, yes, but I refused them because they did not have the same passion as I did, to help the poor and the needy. I’d rather have a man who is like my Father: kind, brave, a little brash, but generous, nonetheless. And I’m beginning to see all of that in you, Jacob.”

Jacob finally caught on to her explanation. “Oh. Then, why won’t you kiss me now?”

Sarah’s lips curved into that smile he admired. “As I said, I don’t think it’d be proper for me to kiss you just because we’ve stolen something. I rather prefer a moment when all has agreed that it is the right time.”

“You’re referring to Tim, aren’t you? Trust me, that man has been aching to tear my head off since the moment we shook hands.”

“Tim only means well, Jacob. Who else should watch over this young and defenseless girl from the evils of the Underworld?” Sarah wrapped her arm around Jacob’s, pressing her warm cheek along his bicep. 

She heard him exhale through his nose and began to guide her out of the district. And then, steadily, she reached down to hold his hand, which he reciprocated with equal fervor. The lady swathed in magenta once again stared at the two of them down like low quality objects in a store. She turned with a swish of her skirt, only to have her purse taken from her by a group of boisterous orphans. The woman screamed for help, but no one batted an eyelash toward her, and the people went about their afternoon in peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, I lied to myself. Eight pages, really?! Anyway, this was just something to analyze the relationship between my OFC and Jacob. Also, the candy-stealing scene was actually a real life experience: my friend and I were inside this candy store, and the cashier was being a douche to us so while he wasn't looking, we picked a handful of jawbreakers and put them in our purses.
> 
> As promised, about that Unity Fanfic, I just remembered that my only French translator is now in Germany working for a Tourism Company, so I can't really go and ask her for a translate each time. Bummer.
> 
> And I'm more of an expert when it comes to sad romantic stuff because I'm planning my character to fall in love with Arno, even though Arno is smitten with Elise. Think about it: she's gonna wait for him throughout the Revolution.
> 
> Thanks for the comments, kudos, and whatnot~!


	12. Down the River

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander Graham Bell seeks the aid of the Frye Twins. While performing their task, Evie and Jacob discover something sinister among the cargo.

“Miss Frye, I have an urgent message from Aleck.” Henry announced the moment he stepped foot into their mobile hideout. Evie, who had been organized her volumes in chronological order, had dropped her task and approached the Indian Assassin.

“It seems that he has important matters to discuss with you and Jacob.”

“All right, Agnes is just about to pull up another round in Southwark. I’ll send a Rook over to Whitechapel to fetch Jacob.” Evie said in a monotonous tone.

“Ah, there is no need.” Henry gently raised a hand to halt her. “An urchin informed me that Jacob is already there. With Miss Sarah.”

“What on earth are they doing there?” The female Assassin scowled at the statement conveyed to her.

Henry, however, merely smiled. “They were last seen leaving a confectionary store with a group of orphans tailing behind them. I do not think they will be difficult to miss.”

For now, Evie ignored his avoidance to her question and soon departed the moving train. She climbed up onto the roof, where she waited for the right opportunity to jump off. With a racing heart, she leaped from the edge and landed with a roll on the canopy of a industrial building. She didn’t even gave her senses a chance to recover as she got back on her feet and darted towards a carriage. Thankfully, the driver was nowhere to be seen, so she simply mounted the empty seat and took the reigns.

The pair of horses neighed loudly, dragging the heavy coach behind them with all the strength that they could muster. In a quick succession, Evie activated her special sight and tracked down the location of her twin, all the while navigating the carriage through the crowded streets of Southwark.

A gold silhouette appeared in her vision. She blinked away the gift, and urged the horses to move faster. For good measure, she used her sight once more to calculate the distance, and once noticing that she was close, the Assassin took off from the running carriage and landed on the cobblestone lane without harm. An uncertain number of people shrieked as the runaway vehicle drove by, but Evie managed to put on a calm attitude and entered the tapered alleyway to reach her twin.

Jacob had been teaching the urchins how to perfectly catch a sweet with their mouth. Quite a few of them cheered in delight each time he caught one, and they immediately followed his example afterward.

“Well, it looks like you’ve been having a grand time.” Evie said as she strode toward him.

“Hello, dear sister.” Jacob replied and held out the two bags of confectionaries for her. “Don’t resist it. There’s butterscotch in there, I think.”

Evie smiled a little. “I don’t particularly trust you on that: you always were a glutton when it came to butterscotch or any particular dessert, in fact.” Jacob simply shrugged his shoulders and grinned.

“Where is Miss Callum, by the way? I thought she’d be with you.”

“She was. But a Little Helper arrived and called her back to duty.” Jacob told her.

“What a stroke of luck, so are we.” Evie hummed and took out a sherbet lemon sweet. “Mr. Bell has asked for our aid. I have a feeling that he has additional information on Starrick and his dealings.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?” Jacob said eagerly. His older twin then handed the bags to the children, who happily thanked her and ran away with their remaining spoils.

The Frye twins traveled to the lodgings of Alexander Graham Bell, eyes wary of any Blighter or Templar Agent lurking in the dark backstreets of the unchartered borough. Jacob mentioned a plan to subdue the next Blighter gang leader, but Evie had asked him to postpone his ideas until they’ve finished with their current assignment.

As usual, upon reaching their destination, the younger twin let himself inside casually, and they strode in to see the inventor examining a strange sort of green liquid contained within a glass beaker. Aleck looked away from his work the minute he heard their footsteps tapping on the floor.

“Ah, Jacob and, uh, Miss Frye! How good to see you!” he said jovially. “Oh, have you seen Starrick’s latest lies?” He held up the latest newspaper, the very same one Jacob had seen back in the store.

“Lies in a newspaper?” Jacob blurted to cover up his blunder, silently cursing himself for missing that certain article at the front.

“What transpired from the new line you were establishing?” Evie inquired.

The look of dismay was evident on the young scientist. “Oh, the cables we ordered never arrived,” he told them. “And then, we intercepted this: a message mentioning cargo seized at College Wharf. I fear the worst for the crew that handled the shipment.”

“Then let’s un-seize it.” Evie stated in a determined manner. However, as they turned to leave the lodging, the inventor called out to them.

“Oh, wait! Another intercepted wire contained the recipe for a powerful hallucinogenic serum. I’ve adapted this dart mechanism to work with your bracers.” He rummaged his worktable to hand them a couple of the aforementioned serum encased in copper darts. Evie studied the liquid inside and wondered what sort of chemicals were added to make such a strong mixture.

“Aleck, you’re a genius!” Jacob smirked, fitting his new accessory into his armament.

“Well, that patently is untrue. Although, I’ve also discovered that the serum adapts the form of a gas when subjected to heat.” Aleck clarified to them, much to their surprise.

“Just when I think you can’t surpass yourself.” Jacob chuckled lightly, and the two were off on their mission.

Outside, a dark rain cloud had blanketed the skies of London, and the light drizzle of a deluge started to come down on the Assassins’ shoulders. Evie gave her brother a brief summary of their scheme: first off, they will have to locate the missing crew members; they are still possibly held hostage by Blighters since the message Aleck received had arrived not too long ago. Then, they would search for the missing cables along the wharf.

“Did you comprehend all of that?” Evie questioned her brother.

“Locate missing crew, kill any Blighters if possible, and find the stolen items. I can do all of it with my eyes closed and my hands tied up.” Jacob arrogantly replied.

“If only you had your mouth sealed shut as well.” His sister muttered under her breath.

The Fryes then headed off to the designated wharf in haste. While it was fun to jest about their objectives from time to time, Jacob knew when to attain a serious conduct in the face of their enemies. He and his sister scaled the nearest warehouse and began to study the area using their triggered Sight.

“I’ll take the group on the left,” he heard his sister speak. “You take the ones on the right. Can you do that without casualties?”

“The only casualties that will happen are going to be on their side.” Jacob remarked and exchanged his flat cap for the Assassin hood.

He snuck behind gigantic crates and waited for the patrolling Blighter to approach him. Then, he whistled lowly enough for his target to hear. The man perceived it, and was beginning to saunter over to where the noise arose. In an instant, Jacob grabbed his prey by the lapels of his jacket and tossed him to the ground, where he barely uttered a word before a sharp blade cut through his jugular. The Assassin quickly moved on, and very much replicated his stealth attacks on those with solitary stations. The groups, however, had another thing coming to them.

“All right, don’t let me down Aleck.” Jacob stood up, aiming his bracer toward the small fire the Blighters were huddling around. 

The copper dart flew with a flick of his wrist, and landed directly into the blazing fire. The reaction was instant: the liquid inside exploded, quickly evaporating from the intense heat, and enveloped the enemies in a noxious gas. They all coughed as the volatile substance invaded their senses, and soon two of them felt the effects of the hallucinogen. Jacob took the moment to advance: he attacked the lone Blighter who was staring in fear when his comrades suddenly flew off the handle.

Taking out his prized kukri, the Assassin slashed the blade across his opponent’s torso. The Blighter stumbled back, startled by the assault, but he still had strength to stand up Now within the crossfire of the fantasizing group, a crazed Blighter tried to take a swing at the new challenger in front of him, but he dodged the very tip of the knife and elbowed the bridge of his nose. Jacob then plunged his hidden blade into the man’s shoulder and used his kukri to shank the corresponding one. And, with raw strength, he gripped the handle of the blade and threw the dying man to the wet ground of the wharf, successfully retracting the weapon in the process.

His second foe, slightly dazed by the gaping laceration across his chest, was heaving out blood and gasping around like a fish, but he was still attempting to land a fatal injury. Jacob put the bloke out of his misery by directly piercing his heart with the hidden blade, and then embedding the kukri in his nape. The broad-shouldered brute that was with them simply fell to his kness and slumped forward in a heap, foaming at the mouth and convulsing to death.

The Assassin took a minute to breathe deeply, and then turned around to go through the captured crew members. They looked worse for wear, but were unharmed, nevertheless. They were all gaping at him in both awe and fear, not expecting a strange fellow to rescue them from this outlandish situation. 

“Seems you’ve got yourselves involved with the wrong kind of people.” Jacob panted, still experiencing the rush of adrenaline. 

A man with a groomed Van Dyke beard scoffed. “We’ve always known that the Blighters would get us one day, boy. They practically own the Thames. Didn’t think it’d be today.”

“What if I told you that you all no longer have to wait in fear? Join me and the Rooks, and you’ll be able to save everyone from going through that world of dread.”

The Van Dyke man laughed. “Untie us first and we shall see.” Jacob nodded and cut the taught ropes that binded them. The men uttered their gratitude as they could finally move around freely.

“The name’s Tristan Sellars, and those two are my younger brothers, Kenneth and Elbert. We were working to load the haul into the barge when those bastards came at us.”

“Jacob Frye.” The Assassin then shook hands with his newfound members. “By the way, do you know anything about the cargo you were supposed to deliver today?”

“Aye, heard that they stored it in a warehouse of sorts. It’s not too far from here, I guess.” Tristan told him.

“Thank you for that. Head up to the Olive Branch on Rosemary Lane, in Whitechapel. Tell the owner, or a girl named Cynthia, that I sent you to be initiated into the Rooks. They will  
take it from there on afterward.”

“Sounds like a plan. We’ll be looking forward to work with you, Mr. Frye.” Tristan said and motioned his brothers to follow him out of the wharf.  
Jacob soon left in search of the nearby storehouses for the intended haul. He eventually found what he was looking for, and had eliminated the lone Blighter that was guarding it. He then broke the lid of the crate and grabbed the items needed.

“Did you find it?” Evie inquired as she walked up to her twin.

“Here they are.” Jacob showed her the black cords needed by their inventor friend, and she nodded in approval. “And no casualties whatsoever on my part, except that I’ve recruited more people into the gang.”

“All right, I've found our missing crew. We just have to make sure that they are delivered safely this time.” They sauntered out of the storage area with an unseen glow of pride on their faces; Evie was the first to pause when she noticed a ship steadily easing its way through the congested thoroughfare of the Thames, and the persons defending its deck were Blighters. Their leader likewise saw something was amiss with their companions along the waterfront.

“There’s trouble on the docks, lads! We need to get this load to Starrick now!”

“Jacob!” Evie shouted.

“I’m on it!” Jacob handed the cables to her, and pursued the boat. 

He took a giant leap from the wharf and onto a moored dinghy. His eyes were more heavily focused on the objects he could use to reach his mobile target. The Assassin inhaled deeply as he made the final jump, and landed on both feet at the end of the boat. He quickly removed those vexing Blighters whilst making his way to the bow. And as for the brawny Blighter superintendent, Jacob calmly walked up behind him and stabbed his jugular with the hidden blade. The man gurgled on his own blood and keeled over.

“Right, let’s see what Starrick has in his shipments.” Jacob punched the rusted lock of the crate and it easily cracked open like a snail shell. He lifted the cover and was startled to see bottles and bottles of dark fluids.

“Poison. Bell must know what kind.” Again, he took an easy route back to the wharf and reunited with Evie. He described the objects inside the cargo, and waited when she put on a farsighted look.

“This is sufficiently curious,” she said. “But, that is a matter to deliberate another time.”

“Ah, good. Now, can we find shelter from this rain?” The weather could have been the least of their problems, but the city weather was far different than that of the countryside. Jacob crossed his arms to keep himself warm.

“Fine.” Evie agreed. The Frye twins then departed from College Wharf, satisfied to complete yet another mission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Putting the spotlight back on the Frye Twins! To be honest, I was confused about the shipment of cables that Aleck was talking about, and then I realized he needed them to be shipped to Greenwich, which is like...not that far from Southwark. Also, new characters! You'll notice that those I give with complete names, or are constantly mentioned, are usually incorporated into the story to give everything more depth. Tom Gollach, Cynthia the Stalwart Assistant, and the Sellars Brothers are the few that will give Syndicate its details.
> 
> When I was writing the fight scenes, I remembered that I had little patience when it comes to action [slowly flips table]  
> Let's just say I tried...very hard.
> 
> As for the Unity Fanfic: I borrowed the game from a friend of mine since my cousin didn't want to buy it, or touch it, when it came out. To the person who volunteered to translate French phrases for me, I apologize for the late reply, but I already took the chance to ask a French teacher from my college days, so I have some books and a few papers on what I need to say or use. But, really, I appreciate your effort to help me, and I hope you continue to simply support me in this current endeavor~
> 
> Thank you for reading this chapter!


	13. The Archana Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah Callum realizes that her forces are not enough to cover the entire city.

The restoration of The Gilded Cage was operating rather evenly. Tim had hired the best of his closest friends to acquire a certain discount in labor force and construction supplies. Sarah enlisted the assistance of her own circle of acquaintances for the interior decorating, for they too had similar thoughts when it represented their peculiarity and circumstances. Georgiana and the girls were daughters of painters and artists who continued to practice the Pre-Raphaelite style for their masterpieces, and they had long fathomed the fine qualities of their unique attires before the young blonde even discovered their existence.

“We should have the walls painted green, like reawakened grass on a spring morning.” Georgiana remarked as she paced around the interior of what will soon be the alehouse.

“And the table cloths should be yellow so it’ll match their uniforms!” squeaked Tabitha, their youngest member to date.

Sarah wore an impassive expression as she stared at the samples of fabrics in front of her. She glanced down at the bouquet of sweet pea flowers given to her by one of the Helpers: the blue orchids were bunched and bounded together by a dark green ribbon. They were very fragrant and pleasing to the eye.

“I think I have an idea, girls.” The blonde put down the sweet pea flowers onto the table. “How about varying dark shades of green, blue, and perhaps a bit of violet, I might say? After all, the Rooks are a gang that will need all the privacy they can to conduct affairs. The darkness of the colors add to the mystery of what lies beyond the soon-to-be dangerous group in all of London.”

“Oh, that is lovely! But violet textiles are difficult to come by!” Georgiana told her.

“Do not worry yourself over that, Georgiana. I have my ways.” Sarah told her friend.

They soon debated over which wood should they use for the furniture, and all the while the workers went on to hammer the new floorboards and replace the walls to make the place sparkle like it did many years before. They were halfway through their meeting when Tabitha suddenly stood upright and glanced at something over Sarah’s shoulder. The said girl looked to wherever she was looking and saw the Frye Twins marching to their establishment. 

The scenes of yesterday played out in her head, and she practically welcomed the warmth she felt as it pooled into her face. Jacob opened the brand new door of The Gilded Cage with a broad smile and a cheeky demeanor. His sister merely nodded her head, approving the progress they were currently settled in.

“And who in the world is that? He is reasonably appealing for a pauper, don’t you think?” Georgiana stated with an amiable tone.

“He is my...other business, Georgiana.” Sarah retorted. “Well, I will have to adjourn the argumentation for today. Thank you for coming here to assist me, girls!” She clapped thrice to signal the conclusion of their consultation. The group gathered their belongings, and gestured their farewells with flamboyant movements, as if they were exiting a scene in a renowned play. Jacob regarded each departing girl with a playful glint in his eye; Evie lightly thumped on his chest to knock him out of the reverie.

“I hear you’re already planning to take the City of London next.” The blonde girl picked up her bouquet and used it to cover her oncoming blush.

Jacob shrugged, but thanked her for noticing, nonetheless. “What can I say? The Rooks will not rest easy until we eliminate every damn Blighter and Templar in London.”

“Right,” came Evie’s voice. “Miss Callum, we require your aid.” The female Assassin removed a folded missive from the pocket of her trousers and handed it over to Sarah. The girl removed all sorts of frivolity from her character and opened the note.

“That was found amongst the cargo of Starrick. Another ally of ours mentioned that it has reached the open market, but we have no idea where it will go next.” Evie said severely.

Sarah’s brows furrowed in confusion. “I have to be honest, this is somewhat frightening. We have no clue what factory or storehouse this poison will flow into. I’ll have to appoint one of my more agile Helpers if we need the information to reach us in one piece.”

“Thank you, Miss Callum.” Evie smiled.

Sarah returned her gesture and felt the rough fingertips of Jacob slowly grazing the skin of her left wrist. She slapped the cocky grin off his features with her sweet pea bouquet, and laughed when he loudly exclaimed.

“What was that for?” Jacob pursed his lips and appeared dejected. “That actually hurt!”

“Behave yourself, Mr. Frye. So, what do you think of the repairs?” She motioned to the entire room they were standing in. “Tim really wants it to shine like a Bristol decanter. The girls and I have taken the privilege to pick the colors and remodel the rooms upstairs to accommodate our intimate affairs.”

“Lady Callum, I thought we had an agreement about that?” Jacob smirked, his arrogance returning with a vengeance.

“By intimate affairs, I meant our partnership, Mr. Frye. Please restrain yourself before you start to drown in concentrated masculinity.” The younger Frye twin hid his blush behind a clenched fist.

“Speaking of partnership,” Evie spoke up to break their little banter. “Miss Callum, we also need your advice in regards to...monetary issues.”

The Assassins saw how the young girl began to brighten at the mere mention of finance. “Do you mean to tell me that there is still a lack of funds in your vault?”

“Sadly, yes.” Evie nodded. “And we would like to know how we can increase it twofold.” Sarah held her bottom lip between her forefinger and thumb, a gesture that Jacob found extremely endearing that he had to smile. Again, she slapped her bouquet across his face. He shrieked for an instant and glared at the subject of his playful ire.

“I think I may know of a person. However, he is only available when the city is asleep. Come by the Olive Branch tonight at ten, and I’ll lead you to him.”

“All right, we’ll see you then, Miss Callum.” As Evie walked away from the alehouse, Jacob quickly came up to Sarah and used his taller stature to conceal his personal dealings with her.

“That really hurt, honestly,” he mumbled and pressed his reddened cheek against the crown of her head.

“Oh, come on, Jacob, they’re only flowers. Sweet peas, particularly” Sarah chastised him. She slipped her arms underneath his jacket and wrapped them around his robust torso.

“I missed you.”

“I didn’t. It has only been a day, after all.”

“You are very vexing at the moment. And I like it.” Jacob groaned into her blonde hair and tightened his hold around her. She softly grunted when her breathing was briefly cut off by his sudden squeeze.

“You should leave now, Jacob. As I recall, you were preparing to bring anarchy into the City of London.” She heard him sigh, and then he placed all his weight on her. “Jacob! You’re too heavy for your own good!”

“I blame your tarts and cakes.” The male Frye twin hummed, until he was walloped by a bunch of blue orchids over and over. “All right, I’m leaving!” He stepped away from her to avoid another fragrant slap, but stopped near the door to take a good look at Sarah from his position.

“Jacob, just go.” She smiled at him lovingly.

“I expect a warm welcome when I return from my task!”

“You’ll expect nothing, not when you continue to linger here!” With a conclusive grin, Jacob eventually left the alehouse to catch up to his sister.

As they disappeared into the ever growing crowd of Whitechapel, Sarah inserted the folded note into the pocket stitched inside her gown, and checked the time on her watch. Three-fifty five in the afternoon. She called out to Tim, saying that she was leaving for the East End, and would not be returning until evening. The Scotsman responded with bellowing yell that seemed to shake the entire building. The young girl gathered her skirts and hurried outside to flag for a grinder.

“Where’s is it to then, love?” the cabman inquired.

“To the East End, on Flower and Dean Street, please.”

The spindle-legged horse whisked its tail into her face as Sarah mounted the old coach. The driver flicks his whip with an adept movement of the wrist so that the abrupt forward motion nearly flings the girl into her seat, even while closing the door. Bracing herself for another bone-rattling trip through the borough she had came to respect and canonize, Sarah fixed her gown and sat on the cushioned velvet seats. Clearly, the cab has been out for some time: one of its silk window-curtains had been torn from its fastenings and was fluttering about on the inward wall. She noticed a pass-check to the Alhambra Theater underneath her feet, and the black leather of a kid glove stuffed down the back of the seat.

It did not take long for her to arrive at the designated place. She observes an orphaned girl, no older than six, dressed in rags and crying in distress over what appears to have been a beating from a workhouse attendant. Soon enough, the child fell over in a weeping mess. A woman and her side-whiskered escort walked on by the exhausted child without pause. The carriage eventually stops a few ways down from the scene, and Sarah instinctively gave him five shillings as payment.

“Fancy seeing you here, Miss Callum.”

The said girl turned towards the voice and smiled at the approaching figure. “Mr. Wynert, what a surprise. What brings you here in the East End?” She held out a dainty hand, which he took with eagerness, and felt him gently kiss each knuckle.

“Same here as you.” Ned replied and guided her to the specialized pub named The Cloak.

It was a grand parlour located in the lower ground floors of a lengthy apartment building. Here, the working people came to chat, in confidence and safety, about legends and rumors circulating the borough of Whitechapel. The two found themselves heading straight towards the Archana* Room, where wallpapers of outlandish patterns prevailed. Cushions wrapped in silk and embroidered with gold thread were scattered on the floor, and exotic plants hailing from the Far East decorated each lone corner. Indian fellows of varying ages and occupations were freely conversing in their language as they consumed their native cuisine.

“Mandeep.” Sarah called out to the Indian man sitting upon a divan. Her colleague looked up from his thick tome and smiled widely.

“Ah, so the Dove has returned. And you have brought Wynert as well. I have a feeling that this day could not get any luckier.” Mandeep chuckled deeply. “Come, sit down.”

“I’d rather stand.” Sarah replied. Beside her, Ned whistled and stepped out of their way.

“Well, go on.”

Sarah took out the note and placed it on the table between her and the dark-skinned man. “A poison has reached the markets of London,” she reported. “It belongs to Starrick.”

Mandeep leaned forward and rested his arms on his worktable. “Are you certain of this?”

Sarah sneered. “Have you heard about the latest gang? The Rooks?” she said, and added before her former employer could reply, “I’m working with them now.”

“Well!” Mandeep said aloud. “I recall a girl who swore to avoid the gangs of London, because she believed they cause nothing but trouble for the people, for the industries. Until she met a young, naïve man who stole her into the night. How is he, by the way?”

“He is fine, constantly keeping himself immersed with work,” she said. “But I am here because I require your aid: London is obviously a world in its own, anything can get lost, so I need all the help I can attain to sniff out the trail of Starrick’s deadly concoction.”

The Indian tilted his head to the right, whereas Ned quietly sipped his cup of Assam tea. “Miss Callum, you and I formed the Hermes Circle in order to work in complete secrecy. And yet, it was you who turned from us; you followed Jayadeep Mir and his methods. Now, you come here and ask me to relinquish some of my men for something so perilous? Explain.”

The conversations around them lulled, and then it was silent. Sarah reached up to grasp the little timepiece, and thought of Jacob. “I left our Circle, because I ceased to be selfish. I chose to stop and listen. My home, my former life, was taken away by the Blighters. Fear kept me shackled to the Underworld. Jayadeep made me acknowledge that mistake. And with the Rooks, you can finally stop hiding as well.”

Sarah then began to take a few steps back. “Thank you for your time, Mandeep, and I hope that we will meet again in less...harsher situations.”

In the stuffy area where most of the Englishmen intermingled, she gingerly slid past the half-drunken souls. To think that she had to contact her old group from two years ago. The confrontation alone elicited feelings that would have been unlikely to emerge during circumstances like this.

“Hold on, it’ll be rude of me to leave you alone out there.” Ned appeared and guided her out of The Cloak, where he signaled for yet another rickety old carriage. “You did good, Miss Callum, don’t worry about Old Mandeep, he’ll come around soon.”

Sarah forced a smile. “We can only hope, Mr. Wynert. Go on, you still have things to discuss with him.”

“The goods I’ve smuggled can always wait, especially for a good friend.” He opened the carriage door for and helped her climb inside. “To Rosemary Lane, old chap!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is almost like another filler. Of course, I needed to show more of Sarah's origins, and we discover that she was already leading a secret society of oppressed citizens alongside an Indian scholar. During the Victorian Era, there was an increase in population for the Indians, mostly males because females rarely left their country. 
> 
> I had a fun time with Jacob and Sarah again. Also, this was supposed to be the part where the Frye Twins are introduced to the FIGHT CLUB! 
> 
> *Archana is a female Hindi name that means "dedication".
> 
> AC Unity Update: Should I write it journal entry style or just plain 3rd or 1st POV?


	14. Sweet Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Henry pays a visit to his dear friend, and Sarah recalls the time she first met The Ghost

The long rectangular table was laden with a selection of pastries, cakes, and chinaware. The young girl sitting at one of the opposite ends could not control her delight at seeing such parade of delicacies that she had to curiously swipe a finger across the airy icing of the nearest spongecake. Cynthia, garbed in a livery consisting of a black cotton gown and a muslin apron, arranged the porcelain teacup and saucer, and poured the generous tea, stopping just beneath the hand-painted pink rosettes along the gold brim. With little hands, the six-year-old reached for the pretty cup and swirled its contents a bit. On the other end, immersed in a book of Austen, Sarah absently stirred a very unlikely amount of sugar and milk into her cup.

“Did you know, back in the old days, if a young, unmarried woman was to drop her handkerchief on the ground and a gentleman picks it up, they are fated to be married?” Sarah uttered whilst turning a page of her book.

“That sounds absurd; not a single man would do such a thing during this day and age, unless the girl is handsome and prestigious.” Cynthia commented with all the pure sourness of a lemon. She tutted at their guest and not-so-gently wiped her face with the table napkin.

“Quite. But I must say that would have been thrilling.”

“Young Miss Callum is only saying that because she fantasizes about Mr. Frye at night.”

“I am not amused, Cynthia.”

“I think it is wonderful to find the one you love.” The little girl lively chirped.

“Right you are, Viola.” Sarah smiled and sipped her sweetened tea.

After passing through the same road to return to Rosemary Lane, the child had not left her position of distress. She continued to wail into the ground, clutching her stomach with bruised hands. Sarah had ordered the carriage to stop, and quickly dismounted her ride. The wailings soon reduced to tiny whimpers as the dark-haired girl gradually looked up, thinking the terrible woman had come back to punish her again. The dark rings beneath her wide blue eyes suggested lack of rest, and there was a tiny bleeding cut on the upper left side of her mouth. Sarah offered her most compassionate smile; she carefully helped the girl to sit upright and tucked her curly brown locks behind her ears. Even in her grip, she could feel nothing but skin latching onto bones.

“Is it over?” she asked, looking down on her face. “Have you cried your grief away?”

“I’m not certain.”

“And why not?”

“Because if I go back inside, Mrs. Smith will just hit me, and everything will start over. She says I’m a bad child, and that I don’t deserve any kindness.”

Sarah sighed and began to wipe the dirt off the little girl. “And how do you even know you are a bad child?”

“They said my Mum and Dad were thieves, and that I would soon follow in their steps.” The girl told her, and a new wave of tears filled her eyes.

“Well, Mrs. Smith is a right canker blossom, who shouldn’t be allowed near children.” She then added, “people have a right to defend themselves, my dear, even the criminals.   
Come now, you can tell me everything in my rooms. Then, when you are in better health, I will take you to a special place where no one will hurt you ever again.”

“Isn’t that heaven, Miss? My bedmates said that Heaven is the only place where we can escape from our troubles.” 

The statement made Sarah heed the orphan girl. “What’s your name, little one?”

“Viola Eyre.”

“All right, Viola. Babylon Alley might not be Heaven, but it is a safe place, nevertheless.”

And now, Sarah and Cynthia found themselves caring for the girl until she could regain weight and heal from the physical and mental abuse inflicted by the cruel Mrs. Smith. They had washed the dirt and grime from her body, and had to redesign one of Sarah’s old dresses in order to keep her clothed. A series of fading scars littered Viola’s tiny body, and there were marks that suggested she had been tightly bound by a rope of some sort. Overall, she was abused and neglected, but remained a spirited child that continued to see the world as a very strange, but extraordinary, realm.

The bell to the Rooms rang loudly to signify the arrival of a guest. Sarah glanced at the clock above the mantelpiece: it was still five hours early for her meeting with the twins. Cynthia refitted her apron and left to answer the call: she returned soon along with the unexpected visitor.

“It’s Mr. Green, young Miss.” Her mistress stood up, sorting out her dressing gown so she could appear presentable at the least. Cymbeline was the first to receive their visitor with light yapping and the insistent wagging of a thin tail.

Henry was a clever and unique person, with an average height and dark imagintive eyes. He had been rather reclusive during the initial days of their partnership, but changed over the time they’ve spent teaching Clara and the urchins how to gather intelligence and pickpocket without being detected.

“Good afternoon, Miss Sarah.” Henry greeted her at the door.

“Henry, come in. It’s been quite a while since your last visit. Did something happened?” Sarah inquired as the Indian Assassin strolled into the sitting room.  
Her new guest seemed hesitant. “I hurried as soon as I received word from an urchin. They said you returned to the Archana Room to negotiate with Mandeep and his group.” His young associate, which he regarded as a confidante, shifted her gaze off to the side. Henry frowned at her silence.

“Sarah, you shouldn’t have gone back. He does not confide in you after you forsaken him. If you had difficulty in your search, you could have mentioned this to me or the Fryes.”

Sarah quickly interjected him with a serious tone. “I am very aware, Jayadeep, and you, of all people, should know the fact that the Hermes Circle will have no part in our scheme to reclaim London. That is why I had to face Mandeep on my own. However, be grateful, he still hasn’t changed his view of the streets, of the murderers that lurk in every corner. He continues to be afraid, and I have to convince him to see that we have a chance now.”

She watched as her closest friend sighed in defeat. Henry looked past her and noticed the small, curly-haired child seated at the dinner table. “You always were the optimistic one. Ever since the day I gained your confidence, I knew you’d find ways to put your heart into your work. And look at where you are now: your dreams are steadily becoming real. I may resent the idea of you returning to that man, but who am I to stop you?”

Then, little by little, the young girl beamed, and she ran over to embrace her good friend. “All right, what are your plans?” Henry and Sarah moved back toward the minute library, where Cynthia was already holding out a leather-bound journal to them.

“Though the plan may be considered simple, it is the only option we have, for now.” Sarah told him, and took the journal from her assistant. “First of all, we must figure out where the poisons are delivered, and I deduced that they are brought to the commercial wharfs around Southwark, for grocers and all sorts of traders would arrive there to collect their bartered goods.”

“I see, and the only ones who can discern the parcel are Blighters and Templar agents.” Henry nodded in understanding and allowed his associate to go on.

“From there, we will need our spies to follow these investors and figure out where they are taking the toxins. And the moment we have sighted their locations, we will sabotage the productions and destroy excerpts that relates to the purchase and usage of the venom.” A long pause overcame them; silence covered the entire apartment like a heavy shawl. Henry then turned to his associate and nodded once.

“Then we shall do so in the shadows. With or without the support of the Hermes Circle.” The Indian Assassin quickly caught the disappointment in Sarah’s green eyes, and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “I know Mandeep means well to you. And I pray that one day he will understand. I will contact one of my allies in the docks to keep an eye out for any suspicious dealings. If your theories are true, I will return, with the Fryes.” 

“All right.” Sarah softly responded. Henry chuckled lightly and leaned forward to press a light kiss on the girl’s temple.

“Stay safe, choti behen*.”

“Phir milenge*.” The Indian gentleman soon departed the rooms, and all else returned to their relative easiness. 

Viola was a compliant child, even when she was wandering about the bakery downstairs. She remained by Cynthia’s side, having kept her there while she conducted the activities. At past six in the evening, the exhausted workers had hung their aprons in the kitchens, and bid their manager a warm farewell. The fostered child soon climbed one wooden stool and watched the young woman clean and organize everything in the workplace. Once in a while, Cynthia gave advices on how to scrub the ovens, wash the cake pans, and protect the reserves from unwanted pests. Afterwards, she melted a bit of hardened chocolate on the stove and transferred the liquid sweetness into its respective pot.

Before long, the refreshment was consumed happily, and Viola gradually grew listless. Cynthia carefully removed the child from the seat, and carried her back to the apartment, where she was tucked into a comfortable cot that her juvenile benefactress had built for situations such as this, and the maid was glad for the preparation. Believing that the girl had fallen into a deep slumber, Cynthia ambled her way to Sarah’s boudoir and assisted her into yet another artistic attire: she had put on a ruby red kirtle over her off-shouldered chemise dress, and finished it with a short-sleeved green gown that had floral embroidery on the bodice and skirt. Sarah tied a yellow sash around her waist to give her ensemble a figure, and was pleased by her reflection in the mirror. She soon instructed Cynthia to oversee the apartment while she was out on an errand with the twins.

She then grabbed a plain brown cloak and hurried down to the bakery, where she waited for them in the scullery. A lone candle consoled her in the darkness of the spacious room. With nothing else to do at the moment, Sarah began to evoke memories of a childhood that no child should have gone through. She remembered the days when she slept amid the poorest of the poor, sleeping on whatever torn fabric she could find. Portia was there, absentmindedly stroking her hair, imagining her to be the child she had lost years prior. The beggar woman wistfully sang a lullaby about lavenders, open meadows, and royalty; her ignorance to the crumbling world around her proved resilient as a passing old man and his disgruntled son shouted profanities at her singing.

A cold wind swept into the howling structure, and it made young Sarah shiver violently. She buried her face against the foul-smelling pillow Portia had provided for them both, and felt an oncoming bout of coughs. Somewhere in the midst of her voyage between sleep and waking, her companion had stopped her song and was now speaking to a ghost.

“Please, take this, it will keep you warm for the night.” A foreign yet cultured voice echoed along the curving walls, and it somewhat soothed Sarah.

Turning her head, she saw the outline of a figure kneeling before her. She could not scrutinize his features, for it was dark, and the only reliable light source was meters away. However, she was certain that he had been the one to give them the thick wool blanket, which smelled of jasmines and sandalwood.

“Hello there,” he must have noticed her gaze on him.

“Hello.” Sarah replied hoarsely. 

She blinked once to adjust her eyes to the dark, and came to discern a comely and handsome face. His dark complexion showed her that he was, indeed, an Indian immigrant, much like the ones she saw strolling down the streets with their outlandish and curious costumes.

“Are you feeling all right, little one?” the Indian asked her.

“I am unwell, sir.” Sarah responded with a cough. “And I’m scared of the dark.”

“Do not worry about the darkness. It may seem frightening for you, but it can serve to protect you from those who wish to hurt you.” The young man explained sensibly. 

“Moreoever, you have your mother by your side.”

“Portia is not my Mother.” Sarah told him severely, surprising the clandestine speaker. “My real Mother died from consumption when I was younger. And my Da...my Father is gone as well.”

No noise came from the Indian, and then, through the murkiness of their setting. he asked, “What is your name, little one?”

“Sarah Callum.” She caught movement: a nod of the head.

“Well, my name is Bharat Singh. I will be safeguarding this tunnel for now, until I find proper lodgings in this rainy city.” From the instant he mentioned the rain, Sarah could hear the rush of water as it came down on both sides. Portia laughed giddily at the sight. And yet, the sound became focused, and the tap of one raindrop resonated in her ears, becoming a noise that resembled a heavy stone hitting a crystal surface.

Sarah opened her eyes and she saw nothing but the darkened silhouettes of the kitchen. Her precious candle had long perished, leaving her to slumber without its needed warmth. Had she fallen asleep? Rubbing away the weariness off her face, the young girl realized that someone was persistently tapping on the stained glass door of the bakery. The Fryes.

“Sarah, are you in there?” Jacob’s voice came through the obstruction. “If you don’t come down this instant, I’ll sneak into your room and creep under the covers!”

“Jacob, shush, you’ll wake every soul on this entire lane!” Evie scolded her brother.

Sarah promptly wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and went to unlock the door. Jacob and Evie were caught in the middle of another debate, and she had just interrupted them on time. She greeted them both, and carefully closed the door behind her.

“So, where to?” Jacob inquired her. Eagerness and impatience was clear on his posture.

Sarah sighed at the enthusiasm. “I will tell you once we find trasportation, Mr. Frye.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.” He sent her a flirtatious wink, and sped off in search of a carriage for them.

Finding herself alone with the older Frye twin, she initiated a well-meant conversation. “How are you this evening, Miss Frye?”

“I’m well, thank you for asking, Miss Callum.” Evie replied ever so courteously.

“Please, I believe we have past the boundaries of formal acquaintances. You can call me Sarah from here on.”

“And you may call me Evie.” The dark-haired, blue-eyed woman said with a small smile. And then, in a serious tone, she said, “Mr. Green told us about your issue regarding the poison belonging to Starrick.” The female Assassin noticed a brief inaction from Sarah at the mention of their mutual friend.

“I have it under control, he shouldn’t need to worry.” Sarah said with an air of agitation.

Evie turned to directly face her. “Well, he should be. He told us that you secretly asked for your former group to help us, a group that does not wish to be a part of our goals.” When the young woman did not reply, she continued—

“Sometimes I believe you are too charitable for your own good. People will one day take advantage of that, and you will get hurt. I understand that you were distraught in leaving them behind, but it is not for them to decide where your heart truly lies.”

As their dialogue ended, Jacob eventually returned, driving a black fiacre carriage that was towed by a white charger. “Ladies, your carriage awaits!” he said, and got down to obligingly help Sarah up the open coach. He offered his hand to his sister, but was jostled back before he could do anything.

“To Ludgate Hill, please.” Sarah quipped and took the seat behind the coach box.

“And make it quick, sir Driver.” Evie added to their humor, satisfied that no estrangement arose from their discussion earlier. 

Jacob glanced at the two women over his shoulder and scowled at his sister’s wide grin. He snapped the reins, provoking the horse to move at an average speed. As they wound up into a populated street, where their foolish driver shouted a profanity to each coach that rudely passed them, Sarah pulled the hood over her head and listened to the sound of the clambering horse hooves hitting the cobblestones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> *choti behen = younger sister
> 
> *Phir milenge = farewell
> 
> I keep reminding myself not to exceed five or six pages, but do I ever listen to that inner voice in my head? Never.
> 
> Again, this was supposed to be the part where they're introduced to THE FIGHT CLUB, but I ended up writing more lengthy somewhat affectionate scenes of my OFC. Ugh.
> 
> By the way, if you haven't read the Underworld novel yet, then you might wonder who Bharat Singh is. (Or you can just go to the AC Wiki and spoil yourself silly) I also keep forgetting that Sarah owns a dog, but you can understand since she's busy all the time (even though she just picked up a child off the streets)
> 
> AC Unity Fanfic Update: As much as I love the 3rd POV that most of you do, I really want to get back to my favorite 1st POV style since that's where everything began. Plus, you'll practically feel the angst on the character's side. I already subjected myself with a moment of sadness just to get the inspiration going.
> 
> To keep you on your toes, here's what I'm planning my Unity!OFC to look like: https://s-media-cache-ak0.pinimg.com/736x/d8/bf/f6/d8bff61f78a38bb04b9ced269e04e7bf.jpg
> 
> Eventually, we will get on with the FIGHT CLUB! Because who doesn't want to see a shirtless, bloody Jacob?! (Starrick, probably)


	15. Fisticuffs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beneath the opulent city of London is the world of gamblers, fighters, and bloodied knuckles.

Jacob felt his companion press her form further against his side as a fierce east wind howled through the lane and the surrounding alleys and streets. Rain flailed the roofs with such insistence that it drowned the cries of streetwalkers, scavengers, and watchmen of this vicinity of London. The wind creaked the signboards; it picked up rubbish from the gutters and threw it against the windows of the nearly desolate buildings. Behind them, Evie had donned her hood to protect her head from the imminent shower.

“How much further?” Jacob inquired. Sarah looked at him from beneath her own cowl and examined their setting.

“We’re almost there.” She replied and left his side to wander ahead. “Come on, we must make haste before the weather worsens.”

The Frye Twins followed her trail, senses heightened to perceive any unsual movement in the darkened backstreets. It seemed that only the gas lamps illuminated their pathway, acting like ghostly orbs floating in mid-air. The two came to a standstill when they noted the absence of their guide. Jacob inwardly panicked. Evie activated her Sight and saw the sliver of a silhouette outside an abandoned storehouse. She gripped her brother by the shoulder and directed him to where Sarah had vanished. The huge red doors appeared blocked by numerous wooden boards to keep unwanted solicitors out, but if one were to look closely, the nails did not even touch the surface of the obstruction.

At that instant, the right door creaked open, and Sarah peeked her head out to greet them. “Where were you two? I thought the wind and rain finally swept you off,” she said with a callow grin.

“Really, Miss Callum, you shouldn’t have wandered far. We almost lost you.” Evie said.

“And I was planning to topple every building here just to find you!” Jacob exclaimed. Sarah, however, merely laughed at his grimace.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frye; come inside before you catch a cold out there.” She widened the entrance and beckoned the twins to enter. 

Inside the storehouse, the voices of cheering people clashed the sound of the downpour, and they found themselves in another world: the only light sources focused mainly on the fighting rings and the arbitrators of the ensuing scuffles. Individuals of every class had band together to toss away their money on selected brawlers, etiquette and necessities were unheeded as both middle and high ranking gents exchanged liberal dialogues in their euphoria of victory.

Sarah pulled down her hood and gestured the twins toward the only slumbering person in the rambunctious sea of bidders. Jacob nonchalantly approached the bookie and flicked the lobe of his ear to wake him. The man nearly fell from his awkward position against the wall as he jolted from his sleep.

“No, it wasn’t me, not guilty!” he said groggily. Then, he came to realize where he was. “Beg your pardon.” His drowsy eyes studied the newcomers, before they landed on the golden-haired girl standing behind the robust gentleman.

“Ah, Miss Callum! What a surprise! I haven’t seen you since that incident with Mr. Tim!” the young man said in genuine gladness.

Sarah retained her smile and lightly patted the bookie’s shoulder with her fingertips. “Let’s not mention that memory ever again, Bobby.”

“Right, forgive me.” He nodded and bowed his head to cover his flushed cheeks. To Evie, he pointed a finger and said, “You! You’re the one—”

“I assure you we’ve never met.” The female Assassin interjected before he could finish his accusation. Sarah raised a brow at their interaction, but said nothing more of it as she joined Jacob by the arena. 

She observed the look of elation on his face, and she knew that her plan had worked. Looking back at the bookmaker, Jacob inquired, “Is this a prize-fighting ring?”

“You bet your eyes and ears, m’lord, m’ladies. The name’s Robert Topping, best bookie in all of London, at your disposal!” Robert exclaimed, bowing dramatically before adding, 

“Well, second best, but me Mum says Donald is a bit of a nincompoop.” The Frye twins looked to Sarah, who simply shifted her gaze to the blank wall beside her.

“Anyhow,” Robert coughed to hide his awkwardness. “I can show you a vast array of exciting things: from prize-fights to carriage races!”

“I think we can afford to spend a little time here.” To their surprise, it was the older Frye twin who pronounced this, because if there was one thing that the twins were excelled at, it was fighting.

Robert clapped his hands in joy. “Magnificent, come this way so you can see the current scoreboard.” He led Jacob to the battered chalkboard at the other end of the fighting ring. Currently, there were two professional boxers pitting against each other for the prize of a two-hundred pounds. Evie glided through the excited audience and found her way over to where Sarah stood.

“I’m glad that the new activities are to your liking,” said Sarah, who visibly winced when she heard the snap of bone coming from one of the competitors.

“If it helps, Jacob and I love a bit of exercise every now and then.” Evie told her and watched the match as well. “It somehow astonishes me that you would choose to be a benefactress for this variety of money gathering, given your gentle nature.”

“Ah, I generally leave this sort of business to Tim and the boys. I handle businesses that are susceptible to corruption and fraud. But the money we accumulate is eventually put to good usage.” Sarah clarified. “And since this is Bobby’s sort of livelihood, I did not have it in me to cancel these gambling dens.”

“Speaking of gambling dens, Jacob recently coveted a few in the City of London.”

“Really? Then I guess I’ll have to purchase another book to document the transactions and bill of sales.”

Evie wanted to say that they could hire someone to work as an accountant for the Rooks, but knowing that Sarah thrived on numbers and keeping transcripts on financial accounts, she allowed the young woman to mull over their latest monetary matter. Perhaps they could make amends by hunting down that debased baronet and greedy tanner tomorrow? Robert soon returned and asked if they needed anything—Warm tea? Some up to date periodicals on the current fashion trend?

“No, thank you for asking, Bobby.” Sarah said. “Where is our companion, by the way?”

“Oh, you mean Mr. Frye? He’s gone to sample a bit of the fight!” From where they were, they saw Jacob write down his name on the board and shook hands with the gamesters.  
With a confident stride, he returned to his group and tossed his flat cap to the bookie. “While we’re here, let’s have a bit of fun, shall we?” He winked at his fair-haired girl before shrugging off his jacket, and unbuttoning his waistcoat and shirt.

Sarah casted her gaze toward the dirt floor as a partially naked Jacob approached her. “Hold my clothes, will you love?” However, his twin sister snatched the articles from his hand and sternly gestured him to enter the circle. The younger Frye playfully pouted before leaving to start his first round.

“Bobby, I think I’ll have that tea now.” Sarah muttered.

“I’m sure you do.” Robert replied, chuckling at the girl’s sudden timid demeanor.

The first round began with a regular old brawler. He taunted Jacob from time to time, shaking his clenched fists at the younger opponent, only to receive well-placed punches right into the teeth and nose: the man staggered back, howling like an wounded animal. Jacob grinned; he seized the fighter by the nape and introduced him to his charging knee. Five minutes into the fight, and the new bruiser has already captivated the audience. Robert Topping looked around in awe: more people began to put their money on Jacob.

“This is amazing, I didn’t even realize how many gamblers there were!” he exclaimed, holding onto his stovepipe top hat as if it were a lifeline. To Sarah and Evie, he held their hands in gratitude. Now, surely all of London finest gamesters would be notified of this ‘incredible beast’ in the prize-fights.

After the fourth round, where Jacob went up against a brute nearly the same size as Tim, Robert arranged his clothing and jumped into the ring to announce their new winner: people shouted their support, while a few unfortunate chaps bore looks of displeasure at losing their cherished money. Jacob doused himself with a bucket of cold rainwater and accepted the towel given to him by an awestruck female gambler. He returned to his two companions, grinning like a child who had just achieved the highest score in a test.

“How could you have kept this from us, Sarah?” Jacob said wittily.

“Had I told you about this before, you’ll surely run their funds to the ground, Mr. Frye.” Sarah remarked and glanced at his knuckles. “Oh no, they’re bleeding!”

“Ah, don’t mind it. They will heal, evetually.” He waved off her worries but couldn’t help to lean over and plant a quick peck on her head, happy to acknowledge her concern.

Evie scoffed at her brother’s bravado. “You should have wrapped them in bandages before you entered the ring.”

“I was too enthusiastic! You can’t blame this boy when he sees things that he desires.” His hazel eyes traveled back to Sarah, and he received a rather rough jostle from his sister. 

“Well, I think this calls for a celebration!” The young man beamed as he raised his roll of banknotes to them.

Suddenly, his earnings vanished from his grasp. “I’ll take those, thank you very much.” Evie muttered, counting the bills he reaped. She then plucked a wad and offered it to him. “You’ll get fifty pounds, nothing more, nothing less. Now, go put on your clothes, Jacob.”

“Evie!” Her brother loudly whined. Behind him, Sarah and Robert covered their mouths to conceal their merriment. They soon left the warehouse, thanking each other for the aid.

The rain had finally ceased, leaving unsightly puddles of brown water all over the ground. Evie excused herself to return to the hideout, giving Sarah a quick nod of the head before using her rope launcher to mount the rooftops. Left alone with Jacob, the young girl gently smiled and accepted his awaiting arm. They strolled out of the backstreets in a steady stride, taking their time to enjoy the warmth of their partner. By the time they arrived in front of St. Paul’s Cathedral, Jacob whistled for a carriage.

“Not planning to steal any transportation this time, Mr. Frye?” Sarah inquired as a berline carriage came around.

“After what happened tonight, I find myself rather exhausted.” Jacob said, helping his companion up into the coach, and followed after.

“Where to?” the driver asked.

“To Rosemary Lane, my good man!”

They spoke of nothing throughout the ride. Jacob’s arm wound itself around Sarah and pulled her closer to his form. His left hand lay on her corresponding one, and he held her slender fingers with all the tenderness he could convoke.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got too excited for this that I practically drained all of my energy from the prospect alone. Ugh.  
> Also, kids, don't go around punching random people in the face without bandaging your hands. Properly. Next chapter we're finally going to move on with the story, where Jacob will hunt down his first Templar target: John Elliotson.
> 
> [Renewed Update on AC: Unity fanfic: If you've noticed that the Unity fanfic is now gone, I've deleted it because I have to start all over again. I finally have a good insight on how the story should work out, so I scrapped my initial plot and I'm starting anew. I'm sorry for the inconvenience!]


	16. A Promise is Made

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His plans will be set in motion by the next day. But even the bravest of hearts will have their moment of doubt.

Cynthia was honestly surprised when she saw Mr. Frye enter the apartment following her young mistress. He tipped his flat cap in greeting, which she instinctively responded to. Sarah asked her to fetch the medical supplies from the kitchen, including a bowl of water and a clean towel. The assistant reluctantly nodded and went downstairs to do her bidding. The couple moved to the sitting room, where a spirited Cymbeline thumped his thin tail against the white fur carpet beneath him. Jacob leaned down, patting the dog by the head, and sat down on the chair adjacent to the dying fireplace.

To be quite honest, he never had the time to study Sarah’s room, and discovered that she had acquired a similar taste to that of her late parents: brash colors contrasting against even more louder hues; it garnered consideration with every turn, but the boldness did not seem to fit the young woman, whose characteristics relied heavily on serenity and peace. Now that he thought about it, he found the notion ironic, for he is a man who reveled at the symphony of clashing metal, of gunshots and broken bones. And yet, when it was time to put away the deadly instruments, Jacob realized that he was willing to escape the noise and the calamity that surrounds him daily, and he found a sense of contentment in the presence of Sarah Callum, a girl he had only known for weeks. Perhaps Sarah had been right: maybe he was moving too quickly in their odd relationship.

“Jacob,” a gentle voice called him out of his reverie. He looked up and saw Sarah gazing down at him with a look of worry glimmering in her forest green eyes. “Can you remove your bracer and gloves? I have to clean your injuries and properly bandage them.”

“Of course.” Jacob replied with a small smile. He unbuckled the Assassin gauntlet and placed it on the table beside him. The gloves quickly followed, and he secretly grimaced at the slight pain when he clenched his hands into tight fists. Sarah seated herself upon a low ottoman and was swift to begin her procedure.

“I didn’t know you were a nurse.” He watched the ghost of a smile appear on her face.

“When you are with Tim and the others, you would have to learn this sort of occupation, or else you’ll spend everything on a greedy doctor.” Sarah explained, her breath lightly danced across his fingers. “By the way, earlier this evening, I noticed that there were no Blighters in the north area, was this your doing?”

“What can I say? The Rooks are eager to take down all those who see oppression as an opportunity to poison the masses.”

“Now that you’ve mentioned that, Mr. Green and I are planning to investigate the docks for those shipments of poison you’ve found. We will try to follow their route and perhaps interlude in their trade, once and for all.” She began to wrap his wounds in bandages, and then moved to do the same with the other. Her blonde hair fell to the side of her face, covering her features. Jacob carefully reached over and tucked the locks behind her ear; his fingertips grazed her soft jawline, and she gradually raised her head to look at him.

“Be careful out there. The Thames is still a territory of the Blighters,” he told her.

“Of course, I will” was her response.

Jacob let out a sigh, and Sarah had to frown. “Jacob, is there something bothering you?”

“Starting tomorrow, we might not be able to see each other more often.”

“Because of the Templars.” At the sight of Jacob’s wide-eyed expression, Sarah smiled and got up from the ottoman. “Just so you are aware, Ive been associated with Mr. Green for a very long time. He told me everything, and it happened to be the catalyst that won me over to his side.”

She took the bowl of dirtied water and put the objects away. It was already near midnight, and exhaustion had started to latch onto them. Jacob removed himself from the chair and bid goodnight to Cymbeline. He equipped his bracer and waited until Sarah returned from downstairs: from his view at the top of the staircase, he came to realize how low her dress was around her shoulders.

“Are you leaving?” Sarah inquired him as she stood by the balustrade. The Assassin felt his legs grow immobile from the sound of her quiet plea. He stared at her chest that was heaving very steadily, rising and falling with each gentle breath. Suddenly, he recalled what his sister told him regarding the manner of dress that Sarah and her acquaintances meticulously followed—

_“It is their propaganda against the idea of tightlaced corsets, which is very noble of them, if you ask me.” Evie said as she turned the page of the latest historic tome Henry brought in for her. “For them, to adhere to the latest trends is somewhat vexing, especially if they are quite easy to replace. From what I learned from Miss Callum, she does not wear any corsets because it hinders her breathing—Jacob, are you even listening to me?”_

Jacob observed the young woman in front of him and thought of the men that have fallen to her cherubim beauty. She held no fear when he boldly flirted with her on the first day, but as he started to allow his true feelings to manifest, she happily accepted them without an afterthought: Sarah’s tender shapeliness encouraged his shameless desires, only to be negated by her open kindness and virtue. Such was the consequence of his attraction to this green-eyed nymph. Then, an image of his father, eternally fated to appear severe and exasperated in his mind, had been conjured up to remind him that personal feelings will compromise the mission. Yet, when did he ever take the time to listen to the old man? Perhaps now could be the best time.

“Can you not stay for the night? It is very late.” Sarah said. Her eyes were set downward, somehow ashamed to ask that sort of request.

“Kiss me.” Jacob prompted. He saw her look of discomfort. “Do you not want me?”

“Of course, I do.” A flush of color quickly darkened her cheeks. “But it has only been a day since you last requested such from me.”

“I may not be able to return tomorrow, or any other day for that matter. I will finally put my schemes into action, and the outcome is uncertain. I’d rather not think of you, waiting for me day by day, when I could be dying in some place where no one will ever find me.”

“Jacob, please, listen to yourself.” Sarah cupped his face into her hands and ran her thumb along the scar on his jaw. “You will not die anytime soon. I know this because I have faith in you. Do not put out that flame: that is the very thing that leads me to you, and I will always pursue it. So, therefore, do not frighten me with your passionate threats, that is most unbecoming to a man of your profession.”

Finally, he grew lax in her hold, and he had no other choice but to enclose her in his arms. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “It’s just that the days will grow dire the further we execute our plans, and I’d rather not perish without telling you how I really feel.”

He felt her slip from his embrace. “Sarah?” Jacob watched her walk away from him and disappear into another room. To his relief, she came back, and in her hands was the silver timepiece she constantly wore around her neck.

“This belonged to my mother, once upon a time. She was the daughter of a vain baronet, and my father was just a sailor trying to earn what he can. They fell in love at first sight, but their relationship was frowned upon. One day, my father was called to a long voyage, so my mother fashioned a timepiece out of her silver jewelries and engraved the phrase Halcyon Days onto its cover, hoping that her love would return in a time of peace.”

Sarah smiled, albeit sadly. “Take this with you, Jacob, and do not think of the worse. Evoke only the happiest of memories, and use it to strengthen your spirit. What I feel for you will never wane, so as long as I pray for our own halcyon days.”

There were no words spoken afterwards. Jacob departed from the Olive Branch with an invigorated heart, and a fragile little watch tucked safely in his jacket pocket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter for once! Yes!
> 
> Aaah, got you! You thought I was just going to dive in with the main story, eh? I'm not sure if I made Jacob a little OOC here. However, judging by how he is quick to anger, I have a notion that he can't actually keep his emotions at bay.
> 
> Like what Evie said back in Chapter Ten: "He'll probably run back to Miss Callum and whine about his grievances to her."
> 
> While you'll find this somewhat too Mary-Sue-ish, there are actually some people whom you can trust, even though you've just known them for a few days (this does not include psychopaths, stay away from them at the first sign of danger). 
> 
> This has actually happened a lot to me when I was in first year high school. I was thirteen and alone, but people come up to me and pour out all of their emotions at my feet because they didn't want to reveal this to their friends, thinking that they're a wuss or a downer. They trusted me, for that moment, with something so sensitive they considered it humiliating if said in public.
> 
> With Jacob, I thought that he needed someone else, aside from his sister, to talk to about his own emotional turmoils. Because, hey, you find out that your twin would rather hunt down supernatural objects than Templar targets, you're angry and sad at the same time. Also, if the mission doesn't go so well, you will never see that pretty girl ever again. Combine all of that, and you get one heck of a hurricane.


	17. Two Sides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Jacob is away on his mission, Evie comes to aid Henry and Sarah before the latter one makes a careless mistake.

“G’mornin’, Mr. Frye.” 

Tristan Sellars grinned as he raised a cup of coffee to his boss. Jacob nodded back in response and looked up at the tin ceiling of the newly refurbished Gilded Cage alehouse. The Rooks had all gathered for their first hearty meal of the week, provided by the Helpers and supervised by Tim: the large Scotsman sat in a corner marked as his own, enjoying a breakfast of sausage, eggs, and black pudding. A young brown-haired server came up and asked the Rook leader if he needed anything. The Assassin ordered a serving of bacon, sausages, and lots of coffee. He then took a seat across Tim, who briefly looked away from the newspaper to see who had trespassed his little territory.

“So there ya are, Mr. Frye. ‘Eard a lo’of things about ye in them papers.” Tim folded the article and smacked it onto the tabletop. On the headlines, it mentioned: Notorious gang cleverly entitled ‘The Rooks’ has decided to bloster their terror into the City of London, taking down another infamous crime ring, ‘The Blighters’, by openly instigating fights, leaving corpses to riddle the streets. The employees at the morgue have never been this well-fed in a long time.

Jacob had to chuckle at the last description. “I like this correspondent, he’s rather honest.”

“Well, the same can’t be said fo’ the other balladeers.” Tim grunted. “And what brings ya ‘ere on this fine day? Ya ‘untin’ for Bligh’ers again?”

When the server came to arrange his meal on the table, Jacob leaned forward and said, “What do you know about Starrick’s Soothing Syrup?”

The giant man guffawed as usual. “A big bottle of nonsense, tha’s what it is. They say it’s supposed ta ‘elp you relax through a fe’er bout, but I ne’er trust anythin’ from Starrick.”

The Rook leader nodded with sobriety, and then proceeded to stuff himself with his meal. Tim chortled loudly, almost forgetting that his superior was two decades younger than he. After which, the Gilded Cage fell into a relative ease. The clients, members and civilians gathered on mutual grounds, enjoyed what was being offered, and were merry for once. Jacob paused long enough to drink his coffee and studied the other features of the alehouse: the wallpapers were a midnight blue, contrasting the olive green table covers; the touch of violet velvet seats made the place somewhat luxurious yet easeful even for the rough and masculine.

“Tim, I’m heading off to work, if anyone comes looking for me, tell them I’m occupied.” Jacob said, rising to leave the booth. “Oh, you’re in charge of Whitechapel until I return. Can you handle that for a day or two?”

Holding a fresh cigar between his teeth, Tim grinned. “Ya can trust me on this, Mr. Frye!”

The Assassin tipped his cap in response and departed the establishment in a swift stride. Outside, the noisome air of the borough would have ruined any good person’s appetite, but Jacob refused to look at the slums that way, knowing something beautiful was hidden behind its pauperism if one were to look sensibly. He made his way north to the hideout, repeating the objectives in his head like a mantra. A group of bare-footed urchins ran past, and one child bumped into him on purpose: a folded note appeared on his palm.

Jacob unfolded the paper to read whatever information was held in there. A smirk grew on his handsome face at the written words. Earlier that morning, with a bribe of sweets, he had employed the help of their little spies, and they were gone in an instant after checking the weight and quality of the sherbet lemons. The missive told him about a lone merchant selling the syrup on the docks, in Lambeth. He crumpled the note and tossed it over his shoulder. The train station was crowded as ever, particularly on weeks when a public hanging was due. Jacob climbed onto the first car, and greeted Agnes with a nod.

“Goin’ somewhere, Mr. Frye?” the Scotswoman inquired after she wiped her hands clean on her apron.

“To Waterloo Bridge, Agnes.” Jacob said amiably before going onto the neighboring cart.

Surprisingly, Evie and Henry were absent at the moment. They had forsaken their work, with papers and books neatly stacked in immaculate rows on the mahogany writing desk. Jacob reclined on his couch just when the train shuddered like a colossal creature roused from its slumber. The engines blew out a cloud of steam; the mechanisms came to life. The locomotive hauled its body through the serpentine railroad, once again traversing through London and the common scenery.

As time grew, the younger Frye twin took out the silver timepiece from his jacket pocket and stared at the ticking hands. It was three minutes past eight: the marketplace near the docks would be teeming with patrons and merchants alike, so he had to be inconspicuous on his investigation. Of course, should there be a need to be direct, Jacob had no qualms. In due time, Agnes triggered the whistle to tell him that they were near their destination. The Assassin readied himself the moment the hideout entered the Waterloo Bridge Station. From his position by the doorway, he already spotted several Blighters milling about, possibly searching for him since they recognized Kaylock’s locomotive.

“Shit, I can’t afford to be seen right now.” Jacob uttered, and just when he was about to exchange his cap for the Assassin hood, an idea came into mind. He felt for the timepiece in his pocket and took a deep breath. “Calm yourself, and simply walk.”

He stepped off the train; a hint of trepidation was evident in his gait, but he willed his limbs to work normally as possible. There were five Blighters in the vicinity, and one big Brute on the bridge served as the lookout. Jacob locked his eyes onto the impending exit, his ears picking up on the conversations and footsteps. He even pretended to look at the posted advertisements and proffered goods, and then, before he knew it, he was outside. The Assassin felt the tension being rid from his shoulders. He let out a jovial laugh at his first feeble attempt at indirect stealth, and quickly went to find transportation for his trip down to the Lambeth docks. Fortunately for him, there was a hansom cab across the lane, the driver was engaged in a sprightly coversation with his fellow workers, and did not have an ounce of care in the world. Jacob swiftly crossed over and climbed onto the seat. He seized the reins and tugged on it hard to rouse the hackney horse from its little nap. For a moment, the horse reared back and whined in annoyance.

“Sorry about that, mate.” Jacob said to the animal and steered it to the direction that he needed to go.

“Oi! Where do you think you’re going with that? Stop!” the driver shouted at him.

“I’d love to, sir. But I’m on a tight schedule at the moment!” Jacob grinned at his own wit, snapping the reins to coerce the horse into a full gallop. He skirted past the carriages in front of him in haste, earning a riot of complaints from the coachmen and pilgrims alike. Despite the hazardous speed he had chosen, the Assassin still kept watch for his objective. Only when he turned the other way, he heard the beckoning calls of a merchant selling Starrick’s Soothing Syrup.

He pulled on the reins until the horse slowed to a simple jog. Here, in Lambeth, the earth felt a lot different than those of the boroughs. The mud stuck to the wheels, and people remained on the concrete pathways in order to avoid a mishap with the sinking ground. Jacob, however, jumped off his cab, and felt his feet plunge a little too deep into the silt. He warily approached the target, but it seemed that the man was already preoccupied with an unsatisfied customer.

“Get Starrick’s Soothing Syrup right here!” the vexed exporter called out to the locals as he disregarded the woman in front of him.

But she would not have it. “Ever since he bought that confounded thing, it’s all he drinks day and night! Your syrup is liquiefying him! It’s turning him simple-headed! Just look!”

With a scowl, the man roughly jostled her off. “Look now, you are scaring away my potential customers. So why don’t you bugger off, or I’ll give you something to remember me by!”

“I say, sir, you can’t talk to me like that! You little gutterling!” the woman exclaimed.

Jacob seized the chance to step in. “What’s all this, then?” he inquired, raising a hand to motion the exasperated client to calm herself.

“This ain’t your problem! Sod off!” the merchant took out a kitchen knife to threaten him, but the Assassin simply swatted the insignificant blade off his hand like it was a fly. Sensing danger, the man immediately fled.

To the complaining woman, Jacob said, “If you’ll excuse me, madam.” And he leaped up onto a nearby tree and instigated a chase.

He followed the merchant into a series of tunnels beneath the borough. The cries of his target reverberated off the damp walls, and it served to show him where he was heading. The Assassin tailed after his trail, which led up to a flight of stairs, and into a small park. Jacob saw the man winding down to catch his breath: he used that distracting instant to tackle him into the ground. He grabbed him by the straps of his work apron and dragged him back up to his feet. For an added measure, he shoved the merchant onto the wall and secure him there.

“Tell me where the syrup originates.” He said in a low threatening tone, much more intimidating than that little knife from before.

“A-All I know is they make a run each day—between the gasometers and the Asylum.” The merchant stuttered.

“And where is your distributor right now?”

“I don’t know! At the Lower Marsh Market, maybe!” Grunting, Jacob released his hold and let the trembling man fall to the ground. He then turned around and ambled to the local marketplace.

It was a likely deduction that the distributor had been a Blighter or some Templar agent, thus locating him or her in the crowd would be effortless. The market was now in view, and Jacob spotted a brawny Templar operative sporting the red cross on his waistcoat. The large fellow was investigating every stall and its products with frightening scrutiny. Since he was directly handling the allocation of the syrup, he could be carrying vital information on his person, Jacob thought as he finally exchanged his cap for the hood. He advanced towards his latest target on quiet feet, stopping to crouch behind a stall whenever possible.

“I’m done for today. Keep an eye on this place, and make sure they sell the entire stock this time around. We don’t need another incident.” The agent said to a Blighter.

“Oh no, no one is done until I say so.” Jacob muttered and stubbornly pursued the man. There it is! A folded note peeking from his back pocket. Triumph reigned inside of him, and he quickly scuttled over and plucked the paper from its owner. The Assassin then fled to a populous lane, where he read the billet with proper concentration.

“The man in charge of the distribution runs a fighting club at the Southwark foundry. How quaint.”

Jacob took out the timepiece and checked the hours: it was past nine and near ten o’ two. He casually strode out of the lane with a new mission, and then grabbed on to the back of a passing omnibus heading toward the borough of Southwark.

 

A mile across from the Lower Marsh, and in the locality near the Monument to the Great Fire of London, Evie Frye paced along the street, a look of staidness was evident on her freckled face as she entered the small pub of The Golden Embers. The establishment was devoid of any existence, but would experience a full play come the impending lunch hour. The proprietor gave her a quick glance before discreetly gesturing toward the tapestry of a unicorn at the far end of the room. Evie nodded once and proceeded to wander there: she pushed the heavy fabric aside, revealing the hidden door behind it. Through this door, the female Assassin entered a room resembling a gentleman’s trophy-room, for there were stuffed animals displayed in every corner, and the heads of exotic antelopes, gazelles, and zebras were mounted upon the crimson walls. Above the cracked marble fireplace was an oval portrait of Her Majesty.

Seated at the lone table beside the tall windows, Henry was studying a collection of documents very meticulously, his dark eyes focused on whatever information the papers held. Evie came up to him and announced her arrival with a light cough.

“Ah, Miss Frye, thank goodness you are here.” Henry said as he stood up in greeting.

Evie nodded in reply, although it might have been brusque. “Is there trouble?” she asked.

“As of now, not yet. But I have received word from Miss Sarah and her informers regarding the shipment floating down the Thames: the Blighters are regularly on guard, and their leader, Edith Swinebourne, has been seen alongside them.” Henry elucidated. He then added, with a tone of concern, “The last note she sent said that Swinebourne has an allotted portion of the cargo for her own recreational use.”

Evie felt as though something heavy was hanging above their heads. “And, what else?”

The Indian Assassin shifted his gaze downward. “Miss Sarah said that she’ll attempt to hijack the next batch in a few hours.”

The news somewhat surprised the older Frye twin. “Mr. Green, do you know where I can find Miss Callum?”

Henry hesitated. “She is stationed at Blackfriars Bridge with her company. Please hurry, Miss Frye, her acts may be noble, but it will have its consequences.”

“I understand. I will return with Miss Callum unharmed.”

Evie turned away and hurried, her steps doubling its stride as she departed from the pub. Earlier that day, at exactly seven-thirty, after a light breakfast of crisp bread and warm tea, she had gone to the northern areas of the City of London to assemble a meeting with the other Rooks concerning their influence that dug itself deeper into the borough. While they still have yet to terrorize Bloody Nora out of her stronghold, Evie had asked them to remain sharp and send word if the gang leader had finally proposed a war between them.

Jacob had requested this of her before he went out to have his morning meal with his lads. To think that she would lead vagabonds and thugs into a scuffle was beyond her dreams; she had been trained to work alone. Assassins needed allies, not fodder for the Templars. But these people had joined their cause because they had suffered long enough under the crushing heel of the Order. Trained or not, the Rooks will do anything to free their city. And thus, she took them to the Blighter-infested districts in the borough, and removed those wrongdoers from the face of the earth. The City of London would come to raise the green flag, and no sooner had she completed this task, a letter asking for aid came for her.

“Excuse me, sir, but this is an urgent matter, and I cannot afford to be late!” Evie said to the startled driver when she mounted the empty seat beside him. She was careful not to shove the man too hard as he fell onto the street.

Grabbing the reins, she snapped them quite harshly that the two bay horses stomped their hooves in slight panic before going into a gallop up Eastcheap. She labored the steeds to maintain the speed that they were going, driving by the Bank of England in a rush that a few pedestrians had to literally fall back to avoid being flattened. Under the high sun, Evie could see the sheet of sweat on the horses’ hide, giving it a natural sheen. Once more, she snapped the reins, and the animals regained their fast gait.

The carriage turned left to where the bridge lay, and the Assassin saw the golden hair of their second youngest ally hiding amongst the figures of her spies and two young Rooks. She halted the growler just ten meters from where they stood, and dismounted the seat. When Evie was certain that she was close to their range, she regarded Sarah’s peculiar appearance for that day—she was wearing a white hose, reminding her of those medieval hunting scenes in paintings. An embroidered blue doublet gave her a boyish physique, while a wide red belt was fastened just below her waist. Her high boots were slightly tattered and undusted: she looked the part of a young girl supplanting the role of a man. All she needed now was to cut her very long hair. 

“Miss Callum.” The said girl turned her head in Evie’s direction, green eyes widening in slight surprise at her sudden arrival.

“Mr. Green sent you, didn’t he?” she asked.

“I came on my own accord.” Evie lied. “Either way, you gave us something to worry. What were you thinking? You simply could not wait until we have devised a formal plan in order to stop this illegal trafficking.”

“The longer we wait, the worse will come to us sooner than we know it.” Sarah retorted. Her ruddy cheeks, however, betrayed her superficial bravado.

“Sarah, leave this to us. You have done enough for today.”

“No. This is my livelihood, Evie. If that poison continues to flow into the open market, how will I be able to live with myself? I care not if the business is felonius, but if it harms the people I know and love, then I must do something about it.”

Evie watched the flash of anger and determination in her eyes. “And here, we all believed that you were a harmless little thing.”

“I am harmless. I’m just a tad bit straightforward, that’s all.”

“Right. But you need not to work alone, I will go with you, and when this is concluded, we will go to the hideout and apologize to Mr. Green for making him anxious.” Evie had adopted the tone of a strict mother, and she smirked upon seeing the grimace on her companion’s childish face.

“Alright, when is the next shipment coming?” The frivolity was now gone, replaced by the seriousness of her true occupation.

Sarah reached down to her chest, but grasped at nothing. Thankfully, Kenneth and Elbert Sellars were there to remind her of the time. “It’ll be here in twenty minutes.”

“All right, we have enough while to formulate a strategem.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, glad to see that everyone is still relentless with this story. A lot of things kind of happened that got in the way of my writing, so I'll list it down for you:
> 
> 1) I came across this post at the Jacob Frye tag, and while I consider it indirect hate towards the category of my story, it still hurt and I lost a bit of confidence after that. (Which is probably why I made The Ultimate Sleepover to make me feel better)
> 
> 2) It was fiesta time at my neighborhood, so I had to entertain the guests a lot, plus I stayed up late until two in the morning, slept at five, and woke up at nine. smh.
> 
> 3) The Dreadful Writer's Block.
> 
> Also, I made the worst/best mistake today: I was putting up the final touches to the chapter, and I like to have background noises while writing. However, the movie that came up was If I Stay. So I was drowning in my tears because of that. 
> 
> BUT! I finally found a good theme song for Jacob & Sarah: Heart Like Yours by Willamette Stone. If you listen closely, it really suits them. :)
> 
> Additional notes:  
> This is what I imagined Sarah's "Medieval Page" costume to look like: http://www.culture24.org.uk/asset_arena/7/85/12/421587/v0_master.jpg


	18. The Working Force

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Evie and her allies have successfully hijacked the deadly cargo, but one of them gets injured in the escape.

The shipment had arrived a minute early than expected. Nevertheless, the plan would still be carried out. Evie donned her infamous hood and quietly moved toward the next point. There, she surveyed the happenings down at the docks: two plain-looking Blighters were made to do the labor of transferring the wooden crates, whereas the brawniest of them served as the watchman. She had been correct in her assumptions; thankfully, their leader was nowhere to be sighted, giving them a great berth on their scheme.

Evie signaled the two Rook initiates, Kenneth and Elbert Sellars. The brothers scuttled over to her, a little out of breath yet determined to do what she asked.

“You know what to do,” was her simple command.

Kenneth nodded eagerly. His younger brother, however, seemed hesitant. As the only pair who wore the bright green jackets of their gang, they will serve as primary distractions. They approached the docks, appearing smug and overconfident: it caught the attention of the Blighter guard, who scowled upon seeing their uniform color. Evie glanced back to see Sarah peeking behind a small fish stall. Once every one of the crates had been loaded onto a horse-drawn wagon, Kenneth let out a loud mocking laugh.

“You Blighters think you’re all mighty!” he then nudged his wary brother, who stumbled over his words for a second.

“Mighty bag of shites, that’s what they are.” Elbert said and seemed to take a step back. The two Plain Blighters gradually joined their companion, and sputtered back their own insults about the Rooks and their petty leaders.

“Mr. Frye is not petty! You’re the petty ones! Seduced to instill fear and harm on others, when all of you have been victims of the same tragedies!” Kenneth retorted angrily.

As the verbal contest grew hot, Evie and Sarah sneaked past them and carefully mounted the empty seat of the wagon. The young girl whistled for the two Rooks to climb aboard, and the female Assassin quickly grabbed the reins. Kenneth and Elbert shouted as they clambered up by the ropes and beckoned the women to leave right now. Evie grunted as the cart lurched in a way that sent the Sellars brothers yelping. Sarah peered over the side, her long hair being tousled by the rush of air.

“Just hold on until we get there!” she told them.

“No, no, no! Just take your time! We’re very fine, thank you very much!” Kenneth yelled as he made sure his little brother didn’t fall off and crack his head open on the pavement.

Turning to Evie, she said, “We have to hurry, they won’t make it.”

“If the damn horse could just double his current speed!” Evie said through clenched teeth, snapping the reins at least thrice. A loud gunshot rang in the air, and bits of the wooden crates flew into the wind.

“They’re shooting bullets at us!” Elbert screamed.

“I’m sorry, Elbie dearest, were you expecting cherries?!”

Another shot sped past them and snapped one of the ropes. The older Sellar brother urged the younger one to relinquish his pistol and protect Miss Frye and Miss Callum from the ongoing assaults. Kenneth aimed his gun at one of the Plain Blighters, but an unexpected pothole on the street had jarred the wagon, and the firearm fell out of his slippery grasp. The should-be dead Blighter raised his own gun, grinning as he did, and pulled the trigger. The Sellars moved out of the way in time, but the bullet made its way through the front, and zipped past the two women drivers. Sarah shrieked in shock, having felt the hot ammunition graze her left arm.

“Sarah!” Evie exclaimed, and knew that they had to finish this task immediately.

Elbert frowned and took out his revolver. “Scoundrels! The lot of you!” He shot at them several times, and one bullet had found its mark on a Blighter’s shoulder.

Over the chaos, Evie shouted, “Are you all right, Miss Callum?”

“Yes, it just scratched me, that’s all.” Glancing down, she quickly covered up her injury and returned her attention to the road. “Get out of the way!” she yelled to the pedestrians, biding them enough room for the wild chase.

Meanwhile, Elbert was shakily reloading his pistol for the second round. He willed his hands to stop making a fuss, and pointed the firearm at the brawny Blighter. Just as he felt his finger instinctively pull the trigger, he had closed his eyes at the same time, unable to witness his very first successful shot that tore through the throat of the enemy.

“Did you get one?” His older brother asked.

“I think so!”

“Everyone, sit tight! We’re almost at Lombard Street!” Evie whipped the horse back into a gallop, not once losing her cool demeanor. 

She should not panic, or else it will pass on to the others, specifically Sarah. She made a quick glance at her situation, and saw that blood was blossoming through her doublet. Sensing her intense gaze, the blonde girl looked up at her and asked her to keep her eyes on the road, lest she planned on crashing the wagon from the beginning. With a sharp turn, the Assassin directed the wagon into the designated street, and tossed smoke bombs over her shoulder. The blast released a cloud of smoke eerily similar to its relative, the London fog. The Blighters’ horses reared back in surprise at the explosion, and the pursuers coughed into their sleeves. When the silvery veil was drafted into the afternoon breeze, they saw a mob of Rooks and Helpers wielding shovels, hammers, and fists, their eyes alight with unfettered fury. 

The remaining Blighters tried to run, but the people were quicker: they were seized by the collars of their jackets, and were thrown onto the street, where the last thing they saw were the aggravated faces of the crowd they had threatened years before, stomping and walloping their very livelihood into their faces. All that was left thereafter, were a pair of bloody carcasses on the cobblestones, unrecognizable even by the police.

Kenneth let out a sigh of relief upon seeing the sign of Whitechapel. He looked to his brother and saw that he was nearly drenched in sweat and terror. The revolver in his grip slipped away, landing with a loud thud on the surface of the crates. The younger Sellars heaved a shaking breath and pressed the heel of his hand against his brow: he had been lucky enough to get out of his first mission alive, but his attention soon shifted back to Miss Callum and her recent injury.

The aforementioned girl was putting more pressure into her wound as she told Evie where they should be going to drop off the venomous solutions. They stopped in front of a store that was owned by a Mr. Wheaton. The Rooks got off and helped Sarah from dismounting her high seat. She thanked them quietly before entering the grave-looking establishment. Inside, the odors of various chemicals had congregated themselves, confusing their senses, as well as their stomachs.

Sarah came up to the counter and rang the little rusty bell there. With a peacockish swing of the dusty ragged curtain, a gentleman with a curled moustache appeared before them. He looked down at them, his brown eyes shining despite the murkiness of his seedy shop. The doctor ought to be older than them, and was handsome in a theatrical kind of way. Evie regarded his clothing and thought it was too clean, too aristocratic for someone who lives amongst the slums of Whitechapel.

“Everyone, this is Mr. Wheaton. He is my reliable source when it comes to dealing with chemicals and inoculation. And neither of you should worry: he graduated from Oxford.” Sarah explained to her companions.

“Hello, Mr. Wheaton. My name is Evie Frye.” The Assassin moved to stretch her hand out for a formal shake, but the doctor remained above the steps, observing them like awaiting patients on the operating table.

“Ah, Miss Frye, the other half of one brave soul. Your beauty outranks your reputation.” Mr. Wheaton finally spoke; his voice entailed a cultured upbringing. To Sarah, he raised a surprisingly groomed eyebrow. “And what do we have here? Another one of your exploits gone wrong?”

“It was grazed by a bullet,” Sarah said and removed her hand to reveal the torn wound. “Can you have it fixed?”

“Young lady, I am a doctor, not an engineer. Oh, how many times did we have this sort of conversation? The human body cannot be fixed like some rusted up machine. Why don’t we simply pour grease and oil into your laceration, and see if your condition will improve ‘til then.” Mr. Wheaton babbled on as he ambled down the steps, grabbing an iron rod from one of the shelves and putting its tip into a burning hearth.

“I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Wheaton. What I meant to say is: do you have the proper solution for my insignificant abrasion?” Evie could see that Sarah was straining to maintain her posturing while she conversed with the slighted gentleman doctor.

Mr. Wheaton sniffed. “We’ll have to cauterize the wound, and no begging will aid you. Send those two idiots out first, and then we will proceed.”

The women looked back and saw the Sellars brothers prodding at the collection of jars. Evie asked them to guard the wagon outside: they griped a little, but obeyed, nonetheless. When they had finally stepped out, Sarah began to unbutton her doublet and chemise shirt so that the doctor could examine the damage—

“Was it a cased ammunition, or a simple musket ball?” Mr. Wheaton questioned.

“We do not know. They were shooting at us from the rear.” Evie answered for her friend.

The doctor let out a deep sigh. “All right then!”

He proceeded to take out numerous antiseptic chemicals from the cabinets and shelves, and placed them neatly beside pristine white towels. Sarah watched him organize his stage for the newest medical play; she felt a drop of perspiration roll down the side of her face when he he had gone to check if the iron rod was hot enough. Apparently, it was not. A gloved hand softly fell on her wrist, and she gazed into the comforting face of Evie.

“Is this your first time to be cauterized?” the older Frye twin asked her.

“Yes, unfortunately. And I understand that it will hurt.” Sarah stared down at her hands, which were gripping the fabric of her hose tightly.

Evie stood up and gently ran her fingers through Sarah’s golden hair. “It will hurt, indeed. But I will be here to assist you through the agony of it: wrap your right arm around my waist and grasp onto my clothing.” Sarah did just that and leaned her head against the older woman’s stomach.

Mr. Wheaton poured some clear liquid into one of the towels and wiped the wound clean. After being certain that the injury was dry again, he reached for the iron rod in the hearth, its tip glowing an angry red and white. Evie felt her weary associate tense and tightened the grasp on her coat.

“Does the lady need a heavy drink to confuse her senses, or should I simply continue?” The doctor inquired. However, before Sarah could claim a response, he abruptly pressed the scorching hot tip onto her wound, eliciting a blood-curdling scream from the girl.

 

Elsewhere, across the River Thames, Jacob slightly jumped in his place upon hearing a deafening scream coming from the boisterous crowd. He shoved some of the patrons aside to see what was occurring down there: a gentleman had jostled a woman by accident, and for some reason she called it an immoral act, for she had felt him press his body against her that was beyond courtesy. Jacob shook his head and returned to his search for the ringleader of this holding company. He focused on triggering his special sight, and when his surroundings became an ethereal grey, a gold silhouette appeared in his vision.

The conductor of the syrup was speaking to his cohorts, their eyes and ears were trained on the ongoing fight, but their mouths were obviously spewing forth capital and progress. Jacob undeviatingly made his way through the audience, deactivating his unique ability along the way. He waited until the target excused himself from his peers and walked further into the foundry: that was the interval for the Assassin to use. Jacob pursued him and quickly shot his hand out to grab the Templar operative by the arm, twisting the limb into an uncomfortable position. The operative let out a cry, but once he saw the gleam of a blade in his peripheral, he immediately went stiff.

“If you call for help, I will end you.” Jacob murmured harshly into the man’s ear. “Come, let’s take a walk, shall we?”

They began to wander over to the enormous doors of the factory; not once did the people notice their hurried steps or the look of trepidation on the second man’s face. Jacob still held him in his vice-like grip as they stepped outside. When he was certain that they were out of earshot from any conceivable spies, he roughly shoved the operative to the ground.

“Where is the syrup made?” To accentuate his threat, he drew out his sharpened kukri. “Speak now, or forever hold your—”

“It’s made in the distillery! The distillery! It’s the building beside Starrick’s brewery!” The operative cowered at his feet. Jacob felt a smirk tug at the corner of his lips.

“Now, to stop Soothing Syrup production once and for all.” Absentmindedly, he extracted the silver timepiece from his pocket and stroke the engravings on the cover. He then saw the operative turning towards the foundry, and was in the midst of shouting for help. Jacob swiftly ran up from behind, covering the man’s mouth as he skillfully gored his throat with the Hidden Blade.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In the first draft of this chapter, Sarah was supposed to be shot right in the shoulder blade, because according to my research notes, it's much better if you cauterize a puncture wound than a gash because you'll only have one go at it, but a gash will take at least a few more tries. So, I chose the most painful decision.
> 
> Also, this took too long because I was distracted by...Neko Atsume. Yeah, even my cousins are telling me that I'm stalling myself for virtual kittens. If you'd like to know...I named most of them after Assassin's Creed, although I still have yet to find an Ezio, a Connor, and maybe a Haytham.
> 
> Sneak Peek into the next chapter: Evie learns the history between Mr. Wheaton and Sarah while the latter is healing. While Jacob finds a peculiar old man snooping around the distillery.


	19. A Measure of Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After securing the poison with Mr. Wheaton, Evie and Sarah take an intermission at the Gilded Cage.

“The wagon outside is loaded with crates full of unknown substances that are currently being sequestered through all of London.” Sarah quietly elucidated toward Mr. Wheaton, who was washing his hands clean in a basin after bandaging her cauterized wound.

“Regrettably, Miss Callum,” the doctor hissed her name as if she was the Devil himself. “All variations of illegal mixtures are being delivered into this desolate city every hour, every day, and ever single year, as long as Victoria is sitting on her fat arse the throne. What is so fantasizing about this one particular haul you have?”

Evie could sense a slight tension in the air, but stayed her place beside the injured Sarah. The girl sat upright, still upset by the unfair treatment from earlier, but continued to hold onto her calm demeanor. “The haul belongs to Crawford Starrick. Now, as a gentleman from a respectable background, I am certain you can comprehend that a man such as he should not be engaged in business that concerns the affairs of others.”

“True. Starrick did begin as a railway baron. However, seeing as he is influential in all categories of trade, we shouldn’t be too surprised that he advertises such trivial matters, in fact, I suggest you take one yourself so you could forget this entire meeting.”

At that, Evie stepped forth. “If I may, Mr. Wheaton, I suggest that you be kinder to Sarah, lest you wish to stop existing altogether.” When she finally had his regard, she went on, “Starrick has been finding ways to subdue the people in methods you would not believe. And while poisoned drinks and fares are a commonplace in this city, we intend to stop this specific shipment from circulating the streets.”

A moment after contemplating his next saving move, Mr. Wheaton cleared his throat. “And what do you intend to do with the stolen goods, hm?”

“We wish to have it stored here, in your clinic.” Sarah stated.

“Ah,” was all the gentleman doctor could say. “Right. I should have known.” He nodded and turned to the large bookcase that housed a hundred specimens from the human body, all reserved in jars of varying sizes.

To Sarah, Evie asked, “What does he mean by that?”

“When Mr. Wheaton was trying to find less hazardous accommodations for his profession, I had intentionally guided him to this old derelict building, with an extensive cellar and a tunnel leading to a network of passages underneath London.” Sarah told her and stood up from her seat.

“In other words, this little witch tricked me into joining her group, twice in a row, I say! And thus she left me with no choice but to do what she asks of me.” Mr. Wheaton huffed and removed a flower vase, with a hand-painted picture of a dove, from the shelf to reveal the bronze button behind it. After pushing the knob, a loud click could be heard, and the bookcase opened with a swing.

The doctor then snatched the old lantern hanging by the wall and lit it. “The two of you wait here while I ignite the gas lamps. And have those idiots ready the crates for transfer.”

Before long, Mr. Wheaton disappeared into the cellar, leaving the young women upstairs. Sarah let out an exasperated sigh and had gone out to tell the Sellars about their new task. They griped for a while, having taken an instant dislike toward the doctor after they had heard her screams coming from within. She assured them that, regardless of his rudeness, Mr. Wheaton is still a good person. In the end, the brothers agreed, and began to unload the wagon of its poisonous burden. The blonde girl then returned into the shop to find Evie examining the bottles of antiseptics.

“I’ve never met a man who would be that disrespectful towards you.” The older Frye twin said as she turned away from the table.

“I deserve it, either way.” Sarah replied with a soft smile and a sideways glance.

“Tell me, what did you do to impose such wrath from him?” Evie had to ask out of pure curiosity.

“Would you believe that I once stole some of his medicine? I was thirteen-years-old then, suffering from cholera, and he was standing near the bureau, reading the latest headline of that year and month.” Sarah told her.

“But then, he would’ve seen you come in.” Evie recalled that Jacob had mentioned about Sarah’s ability to remain unseen through practiced silence. She didn’t doubt the account as her brother did at first, and she had been eager to see a live performance since the day they saw her at the marketplace.

“I believed so too, yet my steps had been wary, and I willed myself not to die for the sake of my late parents. After I took what I need and grew healthier by the week, I returned to his shop to pillage more for the others. But, he had somehow knew I would come back, and he tried to hand me over to the police.” There was a long pause, and Evie thought she had confessed too many: Sarah’s intense stare could have burned a hole right through the floor if it could.

“What happened then?” She carefully asked.

“I released her by the appeal of an Indian scholar.” Mr. Wheaton stated, having emerged from the cellar during their dialogue. “If Mr. Mandeep had not been a convincing fellow, that witch would have been sent to the gallows. And through her aggravating endeavors, Mr. Mandeep discovered my intentions to sell ordained drugs to the people of East End, for a lower price, that is.”

Evie could feel her eyes widen at the revelation. “But Jacob said that the doctor kept the prices at an unusually high rate.” Behind her, Sarah looked at the Assassin in surprise, wondering how her brother knew about her former life.

“And risk poisoning people by mistake? Good heavens, my dear! The prices were only meant to keep them away from my shop until I was certain that the medicines were safe. But this one could not wait for a proper cure, pilfering my honest work!”

At his accusation, Sarah simply smiled at him. “And that is why he is always mad at me, because I took a deficient antibiotic. Mr. Wheaton was perturbed, thinking that he had killed me with his blend. Then, he was relieved when he found that I survived the ordeal. In the end, he came to work for the Hermes Circle, and later under my employment.”

The gentleman doctor huffed before haughtily ordering the two Rooks to put the crates into the cellar. Evie and Sarah watched the young men labor with amused expressions, encouraging them not to feel so suspicious toward the doctor. Elbert thought it strange for Miss Frye to suddenly become lenient with Mr. Wheaton, but after seeing the girls speak ever so casually to the estranged doctor, he came to acknowledge that the man was not all egotistical or demented, and accepted him as an important acquaintance.

When all of the poisons had been stored underground, they gave their thanks to the doctor, who warned Sarah not to get herself injured again, for he did not want to see her face for another year or so. The blonde girl laughed and was sure to come and visit him when she finds an interval in her work. They rode the stolen wagon and returned to the alehouse, where the eldest Sellars brother awaited them. Tristan proudly smiled at the sight of his younger brothers finally turning into real men: he gave them a hefty pats on the back and urged them to retell their adventure with a pint of beer.

As Evie aided Sarah off the coach box, the young girl gently grasped her forearm and whispered, “Can we not tell Jacob of this incident?”

“Jacob is bound to find out, Sarah, whether you like or not. He has his ways.” Evie said in a gentle yet serious tone.

“I understand. He worries about me, as I do for him. Do you think he can search for his Templar target without our aid?” The two girls entered the alehouse, where they were warmly received by the Rooks there.

“While my brother can appear so daft, he actually knows his way toward an objective if he put his thoughts into it.” Evie remarked, ordering a pint for herself. When she turned to ask Sarah if she needed a drink, the girl shook her head, saying that she abstained from drinking.

They began to discuss other matters concerning budgeting and investments. Tim, who had came from the upper rooms, greeted Sarah with a fatherly hug, although the girl slightly hissed when he aggravated her still healing wound. He apologized, but did not inquire as to how she received the injury in the first place. He soon introduced himself to Evie and joined in on their discussion, giving his own opinions every now and then.

“As their influence grows, we should hire credible accountants to oversee the properties in each borough.” Sarah said to her companions. “Of course, we must also appoint people who will properly cache the income for the gang.”

Evie nodded once. “Might I suggest one of your Helpers then?”

Tim let out a deep laugh. “We can’t do tha, lassie. Our members are mostly workers, no’ a lo’ of them can’t even rea’ or write, le’ alone count them numbers!” he said.

Sarah smiled apologetically. “Tis true, Miss Evie. My men can do whatever I ask them to, but they can hardly stay up to date with financial problems, which is why Tim and I make sure that they’re well-informed on fiscal news every Sunday.”

The subject of commerce continued for a time. Some of the Rooks had gone to nettle the Blighters in the southern vicinities of the City of London, whereas a few had decided to head down to the Thames. Sarah bid them to be cautious before allowing them to leave. She then looked to Evie with a hint of concern.

“I believe we need to discuss about our prior engagement with the Blighters,” she said.

“Yes, you’re quite right. Kenneth and Elbert were merely fortunate enough to survive.” The Assassin agreed with her. “While most of the Rooks are consisted of former Clinkers, the new recruits are still novices when it comes to street fights and gang wars.”

“Aye, we should’a train them before’and.” Tim seconded the notion.

“Have Leonard contact our resources for whatever the Fryes need. And have Topping secure a venue for the Rooks.” Sarah instructed the Goliath, who nodded and left to run his assignment.

The two women were then left in the seemingly deserted alehouse, with the clamor of the outside world reverberating within the building. Evie drank the last portion of her beer and placed a generous amount of shillings on the table for the servers and alehousekeeper.

“Well, if you’ll excuse me, Sarah, I must return to the train and continue my research on the Piece of Eden.”

“Will you tell Henry about today?” Sarah said, her elegant brows bunching together in apprehension.

“I have to. I promised that I would return you unharmed, and seeing that you are mildly injured on our return, I will have to report this to him.” Noting her look of uneasiness, Evie reached down and gently grasped Sarah’s shoulder. “Mr. Green means well, Sarah. He sees you as family, after all.”

“I understand. But I am more concerned about Jacob.” She muttered like a listless child.

“Ah, well, leave that issue to me. I will tether him to our hideout if I must.”

Sarah laughed at last and kindly bid the female Assassin a farewell. Left in her lonesome, the young girl glanced about her father’s alehouse and wondered if her old bedroom was still intact after all these years. She walked around the bar, ascending the refurbished stairwell behind it, and entered her former home. The wallpapers had been replaced, while the doors were repainted and polished to a flawless sheen. Sarah entered her mother’s boudoir and was surprised to see that none of her possessions had been taken, though the old perfume bottles now served as mementos of a past life.

In the next, she might have felt her eyes water a little as she gazed at her four-poster bed and the newly bought bedspreads. And Tim still chose the color pink, she thought happily. She ran her fingers along the soft fabric of the drapes; Sarah then gasped when she saw something sitting on her childhood writing desk.

“Oh, Puff. I’m so sorry for leaving you behind!” she said to the taxidermied skeleton of her cat. “But I had been a child then, and I was scared.”

Eventually, she took the skeleton, which was protected in a glass case and wooden base, and elected to bring it home with her. As she carried her precious item in her unhurt arm, she wondered who had the initiative to process her deceased feline to the taxidermy. When she was finally out in the streets, Sarah received curious glances from the masses, but she held not a care in what they thought of her at that moment.

“That is a very interesting ornament you have there, Miss Callum.” The girl smiled when Clara appeared at her side. “Is that a creature of some sort?”

“This is actually Puff, my first pet. I unintentionally left him behind when I ran away.” Sarah clarified for her.

“Oh.” Her partner said, and seemed apologetic. “But you came back for him, all the same. I’m sure he is happy, wherever he is now.”

“I guess you are right, Clara.” Sarah then perked up, as if struck by an idea. “By the way, I would like to introduce you to someone at the bakery.”

“Another orphan? Where did they come from? Are they in better health?” Clara asked her excitedly, and doubled her tempo of motion.

“A yes to all, Miss O’Dea.” Sarah softly smiled and guided the young Irish girl into the Olive Branch. The workers there welcomed them, while Cynthia glared at the odd bauble in her mistress’ arm. Clara, however, disregarded everything else and hurried up to the rooms upstairs to find a little girl toddling about the sitting room playing with Cymbeline.

Sarah followed after assuring her assistant that she was not pursuing a scientific career. She observed the two girls as they introduced each other properly, more so on Clara’s part with the etiquette she had dutifully taught to herself.

“She is so small.” Clara remarked after making a careful study of Viola.

“I found her after she was being punished by the lady of the workhouse. She has a few bruises still, but they would heal in time.” Sarah reassured her and located Puff on a table near the window, where she could behold him at any angle of the room.

“She is also underweight and ambivalent. Has she spoken a lot after you rescued her?”

“For the most part, Viola only interacts with me or Cynthia.” Sarah answered and moved to the adjacent room to begin undressing her doublet and hose. She slipped into a clean linen gown and wore a yellow wool kirtle over it.

As she went to brush her blonde hair in the mirror, her juvenile partner entered her room. “I must take my leave now, Miss Callum. Lots of appointments to attend to,” she said. “Please keep me informed on Viola’s progress, if that is fine with you.”

“Of course, Clara. Come visit us again whenever you wish.” Sarah told her pleasantly.

“I will, Miss Callum.” 

After the girl had left, Sarah interweaved pastel ribbons and roses into her blonde hair. Since there was nothing left to do, and no work to be done for now, she tidied up her rooms for the Afternoon Tea. She went to the window seat to organize the picture books and the doll’s house furniture, which included miniature chairs, fairy plates, and teacups. The owner of the playthings was busy practicing her conversation skills with Cymbeline, often pretending that the dog had something scandalous to say. At around three-thirty, Sarah was finished with her chores, and later helped Viola with her social craft by reciting rhymes and singing gleeful ballads.

“Perhaps when you are older, we can learn French together.” Sarah said as she turned the page of the book. Viola sat upon an ottoman, idly sucking on her thumb. “They say if you have the knowledge of one language, then you’ll be able to master others. I know very little of Hindostanee, and I have yet to ask Mr. Green for additional lessons.” She shut the book close and set it beside Puff. When she bent down to commend Viola’s darling curls, Cynthia entered: in her hands was a poorly wrapped parcel.

“Young Miss, we saw this in the courtyard. It is addressed to you.” Sarah stood upright and took the item from her assistant. She tore the brown wrapping paper and saw the familiar bottle of Starrick’s Soothing Syrup.

“There is something inside it.” She turned the container upside-down and out came a thinly rolled piece of paper. “A missive; the handwriting is terrible.” Sarah unraveled the note and carefully read the written message—

_“The production is permanently stalled, but I cannot return yet. Southwark needs to have a sampling of what the Rooks can do. Likewise, I have a meeting with some Mr. Darwin in Lambeth later at five in the afternoon. I am always thinking of you. Jacob.”_

A smile steadily graced the girl’s features as she pressed the paper to her heart. “And I am thinking of you as well, Mr. Frye. I cannot wait to see you again.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so eager to finish this the other day after work. But then, my sister had asked me to buy groceries and pay the bills. 
> 
> Jacob was supposed to make an appearance here; then I decided not to, because I want the suspense to build when he finally assassinates Elliotson at Lambeth Asylum. Also, I was wondering when the Fryes would train the new Rooks, so I choose this interval.
> 
> Ugh. So we find out that Mr. Wheaton is the doctor Sarah stole medicine from in her childhood. And the reason why he is always angry at her: she drank something that was not finished in production, but had managed to survive, nonetheless.


	20. Give Me the Cure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob Frye and his first Templar assassination.

He had heard the heated discussion long before he had even approached the two old men. Jacob raised an inquisitive brow towards the squabbling gentlemen by the thoroughfare: Mr. Darwin seemed like an amiable individual when they had formally introduced themselves in front of the burning distillery. Subjects like reputation and fraud reached his attentive ears, and the Assassin had to steady his gait to listen in on their verbal fight. Soon enough, Mr. Darwin’s opponent yielded, and surmounted his fanciful carriage with an overconfident huff. But the bushy-bearded Darwin held on fast to the door handle as the growler began to move forth: the cheap handle snapped, thus allowing the transport to go on without hindrance.

“Bah!” the old man cursed. Glancing up, Mr. Darwin was able to discern his younger brute of a companion from four hours ago. With a frantic yet dignified posture, he said, “That is Richard Owen! A vile, despicable, wretch of a man!” He then tossed the broken handle onto the pavement, where it clanged loudly on impact.

“Really?” Jacob drawled sarcastically. “I could have sworn you were close friends.” Allowing the old man to righten himself, he noticed a look of realization on his wrinkled, knowledgable face.

“Mr. Owen works at the asylum. He will know who made the Syrup!” At that mention, Jacob became attentive as a Foxhound on hunting season. He even found it ironic that Darwin had barked ‘Get him! Get him!’ just as he pursued the departing carriage.

At first, it looked as though he gained the upper hand, but when the driver glanced back to see a strange man chasing after them, he quickly cracked his leather whip onto the Hackney horse and was hastily speeding away. With skillful maneuvering, Jacob hijacked a growler of his own and prowled after Richard Owen.

“Come on, girl! I know you’re faster than this!” he hollered to the Yorkshire Coach mare. 

The Assassin practically tore through the traffic as he constrained the animal to go further, faster, until he could see his target once more. The people travelling on foot were cursing at them both to slow down, although neither of the drivers cared for public safety by then. Owen’s driver took another peep behind him and openly cursed when he saw that the man was not going to give up on them. Unfazed by his reaction, Jacob snapped the reins before tying them to the coach box, and prepared himself for the risky jump.  
He leaped through the air like a beast pouncing on its prey, and landed on the carriage roof with successful ease. The driver yelped, terrified by the appearance of this hijacker, and jumped out of his own box to land, rather harshly, on the muddy street. Jacob took his place by the front and seized the reins as his own. He knocked on the roof and grinned.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Owen. Consider yourself lucky, old man, because I will be your chauffeur for this moment only.” He could hear frantic jostling from within.

“Whatever Darwin is paying you, it’s not worth it! Do you realize how much trouble you are in?!” Owen exclaimed.

Jacob shrugged his shoulders. “Well, I was hoping that you would talk without a hitch, but it seems I’ll have to deal with this in a much unpleasant method.” 

Forcing the horses into a charge, the younger Frye twin began to steer the animals in abrupt directions so that the growler would slightly tip from side to side. He could hear Mr. Owen screaming out in fear, and when he continued to be stubborn, the Assassin relentlessly rammed the transport into other obstacles on the streets: from merchant stalls to omnibuses, he had London to provide the finest resource for intimidation. This went on for a prolonged time, until Jacob announced that they’d be stopping at the River Thames.

“Stop! Oh, please stop for pity’s sake!” Mr. Owen cried out. “Stop and I will tell you everything that I know of!” With a winning smile, Jacob gently pulled on the reins to let the exhausted horses rest for a bit.

“All right, I’m listening.” Jacob said and leaned back to rest an arm on the roof.

“Doctor Elliotson! It’s Doctor John Elliotson! He formulated the elixir! He is the man you clearly want! Not me! So, please, I beg of you to stop this madness!”

The Rook leader chuckled, somewhat darkly. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Yes!”

Jacob jumped off the box and went to open the gruesomely battered door of the growler. Out came Mr. Owen, shaken to his very bones. The way he looked at the Assassin held much terrified awe, and the young man took delight in that. He clasped a firm hand on the older man’s shoulder, eliciting a surprised yelp from him.

“If I may, sir, I’d like to make a request: tell all of your friends and family about this day, save for our conversation about Doctor Elliotson. Warn them about the wrath of Mr. Frye and his infamous gang called the Rooks. Have I made myself clear?” Mr. Owen could only nod in terror. “Good. Off you go, then. And don’t let me catch you spreading lies about Mr. Darwin ever again!”

He watched as the intimidated old fellow flag for a new carriage, and was quick to enter it before the driver could ask for his destination. Jacob felt quite satisfied by his success and glanced at the broken transport, which was now dilapidated. To his luck, he saw a trio of urchins gathered underneath a lamp post. He advanced towards them with a low whistle: the tallest of the boys looked up and his eyes slightly widened when he saw the Assassin.

“Hello there, lads. Do you mind if I ask a favor?” Jacob warily inquired them.

“What do you need, sir?” the youngest boy replied with a sniff, much to the chagrin of his older friends.

“Do you know how to handle fully matured horses?” The boys nodded. “Ever dealt in business?” Once more, they nod. 

“Good, my broken-down carriage is down by the road, and I need you three to take those wonderful animals and wholesale them to better owners. They’re still tired from the drive, so they will not become a nuisance to any of you.” He then gave them ten pounds each for their troubles.

“Oh, we know of someone who will take good care of them, sir!” the youngest said in a brighter tone, and went along with his friends, who began to unbind the large beasts from their encumbrance. The children waved their Rook leader goodbye as they conducted the indulgent horses through the streets of Lambeth, and quickly began their task of finding a new master for them.

Jacob pulled out the miniature timepiece from his pocket and stared at the ticking hands. It was already ten minutes past six, and the sun was starting to settle down after a long tiring day of being a salvation and a strain to the people of this earth. He fumbled the item in his hand, turning it over and back, until he dashed into the road to latch upon the read of a passing carriage. Jacob thought that his return to Darwin would go very smoothly, but then he felt a particularly large drop of water smack his face, and soon a heavy deluge came down on London. He silently cursed the weather phenomena. 

When he neared the street where he chased down Mr. Owen a little an hour ago, he leaped off his ride and approached the gated grounds of Lambeth Asylum. From where he stood, Jacob could see the massive gothic tower standing over everything like some hellish entity from a dream. He saw Darwin struggling with an umbrella against the blustery winds, but it had folded upon itself. Quickly, he made his presence known. 

“Mr. Frye!” Mr. Darwin exclaimed, releasing the broken umbrella to the accursed breeze. “I trust that you had a productive meeting with Mr. Owen?”

“Oh yes, we had a most wonderful chat.” Jacob said sardonically. “I’ve found that the man behind Starrick’s Soothing Syrup is John Elliotson.”

Immediately, Mr. Darwin’s face scrunched up in brooding. “Doctor Elliotson? I haven’t heard that name in a long while. He was a brilliant heart specialist, until he became obsessed with phrenology and mesmerism. It ruined his career.” Then his mood lightened almost instantly. “Well, how should we proceed in this thrilling endeavor?”

Jacob quickly raised a hand to stop him. “With all respect, Mr. Darwin, I believe I should proceed alone. After all, we wouldn’t want to attract any...unwanted attention.”

“Sounds very wise.” Mr. Darwin punctuated each word. “Good luck my boy!” The old fellow patted his back and turned to leave, but quickly stopped to say—

“Oh, and Mr. Frye, should you find yourself with any free time, please, do call on me.” Jacob nodded in agreement and watched the odd bearded man walk away whilst whistling a jolly tune.

Before he could take a step toward the daunting asylum, the young man reached into his pocket and felt for the timepiece inside. “Just a little while longer, and I’ll be return to you shortly afterwards, love.” He then tucked his flat cap into his jacket and pulled the Assassin hood over his face.

Jacob slithered through the drive and sneaked past the sleepy guards at the main entrance. Using his rope launcher, he scaled up the edifice and settled on the rooftop, where he continued to venture upwards the gothic spire and perched atop its massive iron cross. The rain continued to fall down on his head and shoulders, creating the perfect somber mood for his mission. There, Lambeth was shrouded in colors of grey, black, and white. He studied the buildings beneath him, contemplating which route to use, when he noted that several windows were wide open, forgotten by the staff.

“Seems that I have all the luck tonight.” Jacob smirked and abruptly leaped from his post; the rushing wind howled in his ears before he landed safely onto a knoll of dried leaves. Shaking the debris off himself, he slid down the wet tiles and navigated his way towards the bright square of light, to which he passed through with relevant ease.

The room seemed to be occupied by a group of three patients. However, the dusting of dirt on the tabletops, the span of cobwebs in every corner, and overall scene of desolation were enough for the Assassin to acknowledge the ill-treatment of the admitted patients. For some reason, the wards were strangely silent as he stepped out into empty hallways. Suddenly, a scream broke through the symphony of rainfall. Jacob followed the noise until he came upon a lavish hall with the patients walking about with no direction.  
With quiet steps, he came toward the balustrade and listened in on the dialogues below.

“Doctor Elliotson is using live specimens for his experiments again,” grumbled one.

“Oh. Is he holding the session at the Medical Theatre this time?” his partner asked.

“Aye, and from the looks on the students’ faces, I say it was utter gruesome in there.”

Jacob frowned at the thought of using defenseless sick people to achieve scientific results. As he skulked along the edges, he caught sight of one of the patients, a girl with long messy blonde hair, walking aimlessly among her peers before one deranged man grabbed her by the locks and threw her down to the floor. The nurses tried to pull him off the girl, but couldn’t even manage a budge. It wasn’t until a brawny orderly came and whacked the man in the head with his truncheon.

The Assassin let out a shaky breath and concentrated on the mission: the Medical Theatre was simply a meter away from where he stood. He needed a stealthier way around the double doors so as not to arouse suspicions from the staff. Then, his miracle came in the form of a flue: to there he scuttled his way into another corridor, and was beside the area he needed to be in. Jacob came toward the windows, which showed the spacious theatre and its current performance on stage.

Doctor Elliotson had plunged some sort of tool straight into the skull of a male patient. The man cried out in pain as the foreign matter entered his cranium. The doctor held him down with one hand, while the other continued to twist the apparatus, garnering more crimson liquid to pour out of the gaping wound in terrible results. From the silence, everyone, including the Assassin hidden in the shadows, heard a loud crunch, and the patient had eventually stopped convulsing.

“Well, as you’ve just witnessed, the application of too much pressure can sometimes result in...unexpected outcomes. Unfortunately, it appears I have ruined the organ.” Doctor Elliotson then prompted a call to the morgue and, thankfully, asked for a cadaver to be brought up to the theater. Jacob smirked as a plan formulated itself in his head.

Activating his Sight, he noticed that most of the orderlies were in varying shades of blue. A white shape of a man appeared just a few feet below his feet, hunching over a body, and the Assassin knew he had acquired his needed objective. On his way out of the flue, he heard a small gasp, and looked up to see the blonde girl from before. Her left eye had a small bruise, whereas her cheek began to swell from the sharp blow to her face.

“Umm, hello there.” Jacob said and stood upright.

The girl stared at him before saying, “Are you the charming prince who has come to my rescue?”

“Perhaps. But, as you can see, I am on a secret mission right now, and I need to know where the morgue is.” He said in a hasty whisper to the now blushing girl.

“Oh, it’s in the East Wing. Simply go down there,” she pointed to the corridor beside her. “And you’ll be able to find the staircase that leads to the Smelly Place.”

“Thank you, my dear.” But before he went to continue his task, he turned back to the girl, “Do not give up hope. Your charming prince will one day come to your aid soon enough.” The blonde girl smiled and bounced on her feet in joy.

Jacob hurried down the unoccupied corridor, and reached an area where two orderlies were strapping a male patient onto a gurney. He skillfully leaped from the upper floors and landed upon one of the orderlies, slamming his head right into the metal framework. His partner let out a gasp, but Jacob promptly delivered a straight punch into his face, breaking the very bridge of his nose. Nevertheless, the bleeding orderly brought out his trustworthy truncheon and began to take a swing at his assailant. Jacob dodged his hits in honed precision, and managed to catch his wrist by surprise. With a tight fist, he slammed his brass knuckles right into the man’s elbow, putting his entire arm into an awkward angle that garnered only a small cry of shock. The Assassin then seized him by the nape and threw him onto the electric device, knocking him out cold.

“Oi, keep it down up there!” came a voice from below the stairs. Jacob walked with a calm demeanor as he descended further into the asylum.

Here, gas lamps have lit the way, and the heavy smell of antiseptics permeated the air. He was swift to do away with the two patrolling orderlies there, and had even placed their unconscious bodies onto unoccupied gurneys, in dark humor, next to the other cadavers. Jacob peeked around the archway and saw the handler of the bodies moving around to prepare the corpse for the next session. When he had gone around to stand behind a divider, the younger Frye twin went in and snatched the body off the bed. He then put it inside an empty closet, silently apologizing for his mishandling. In a series of events, Jacob threw himself in the place of the cadaver and threw a linen sheet over himself before the doctor returned to finally send the body on its way to Elliotson.

Flashes of light passed above him leisurely; the sound of the rolling wheels echoed throughout the lengthy tunnel that led him to the vast hall where humans, even in death, were tortured by an insatiable doctor. Jacob held his breath and remained immobile to imitate a dead body. Before long, a much larger light glared through the linen sheet, indicating that he had reached his objective. Once the gurney had stopped in front of the audience, he waited for the right opportunity to strike.

“Here it is, Doctor Elliotson.”

“Thank you, Reginald.” The doctor then returned to his spectators. “We will continue the experiment shortly. In a moment, we will compare the brains of our two specimens. Since both specimens had a propensity towards violent behavior, we should see similar protrusions in specific parts of their brains...”

There was a long pause coming from Elliotson. “Corpses do not have boots.”

At that instant, Jacob jostled the sheets off his form and lunged to score the Hidden Blade into Elliotson’s neck, in the area where neck and ear met. The doctor let out a silent scream and was soon leaning forward into the Assassin’s hold. Disregarding the screams, Jacob settled Elliotson onto the tiled floor, where the old man was heaving out dark blood from his wound and his mouth.

“At last it ends...yet I can only think of beginnings: a better tomorrow, forged in the blood of visionaries.” His dying target murmured.

“All I see is the blood of a lunatic.” Jacob retorted fearlessly.

Elliotson scoffed, putting crimson speckles on the younger man’s chin. “Do you truly believe murdering an old man will stop humanity’s greatest architect? Crawford Starrick has a glorious design for mankind.”

“Designs are meant to be broken.” The Assassin harshly whispered back.

“You are a child. A child who believe he can solve all of the world’s woes with a flick of a blade. Have you ever pondered the consequences of your actions, Jacob Frye? Or did your father teach you nothing?” Slowly, the old doctor let out his last breath, and his head fell back in Jacob’s clutch.

The younger Frye twin took out the obligatory white handkerchief and swiped the cloth across the wound, signifying that his mission is complete. When he returned to his senses, all of Lambeth Asylum was in chaos and panic. Nurses and fellow doctors screamed for the orderlies and police. Jacob thoughtlessly shoved the bloodied handkerchief into his pockets and quickly ran from the scene of the crime. He shoved anyone who obstructed his path, and some had to be dealt with a brass knuckle to the jaw. An open window was his source of escape: he landed in what seemed to be the courtyard and saw the porter opening a gate for the carter to come inside. Jacob slipped past the wagon; he ran into the downpour and then...he vanished into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're an avid Syndicate fan, you may have noticed I used the murder ballad to name this chapter.
> 
> Oh my god, I think that this is the first time the story has gotten a long interval. Although I am proud of the lovely views that it is receiving, I still believe that I should say I'm sorry for letting all of you wait this long. It was hard to put visual scenes into words, it is not easy. Also, I was stuck preparing desserts for my nephew's 5th birthday, so that is another reasonable excuse.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading this chapter, and pray that in the next one, Jacob and Sarah will meet again for a much deserved reprieve.


	21. Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Sarah have finally reunited after weeks of being separated. And, on their meeting, Jacob decides to bring her on a dangerous mission.

There was a feeling of contentment whenever Sarah watched her workers labor away without the doubt of misfortune in their minds. But it grew all the more when it was time to distribute their wages. Fifteen pounds were each given to the employees at the bakery, twenty pounds for the Helpers, and twenty-five for her assistant, Cynthia. The smiles on their worn faces were cherished; their minute satisfaction was what she eagerly expected. After ensuring that every body had received their pay for the month, Sarah returned to her ledgers and began to calculate the outlays for the Rooks’ own investments.

Clara had taken Viola and Cymbeline for a roundabout with the urchins, who were quite eager to meet their newest family member. The child had been cautious of them, initially, but after she had grown accustomed to their presence, she quickly came to accept them and had even invited them to play. As it was Sunday, the bakery was empty and lifeless, and Cynthia had gone to frequent Mass along with the devoted populace of Whitechapel. Sarah, in accordance to the Sabbath Day, had forgone her ethereal dresses and headpieces for a plain white blouse held together by a black bodice, an inexpensive brown wool skirt, and simple work shoes with striped socks.

Creating an invisible line with her forefinger, she traced each figure to the corresponding business, and would measure the amount to equal shares for the Fryes and their laborers. She stopped only to set a hand on her neck and rub at the ache caused by her prolonged posture and torpidity. There was so much to do, even when Evie and Henry had asked her to consider hiring proficient accountants to perform some of her tasks without a price. She resisted the impulse to frown irritably, but had agreed, nonetheless, to their request. Still, once they had their backs turned, Sarah had requested each auditor to hand in their reports to her once an observation had been done. She then set off to work, strenuously, adding and subtracing numbers even late into the night.

After assuring herself that the dull pain had gone away, she returned to the record book. However, over the consolatory silence, a bell suddenly rang. Sarah knotted her brows, apprehension quickly taken over by suspicion. She walked away from her office and went downstairs to see who was visiting her at the moment. Cynthia would not be back until three in the afternoon, and Clara had vowed to return Viola and Cymbeline at six o’clock. She placed a wary hand upon the doorknob of the courtyard door, when, all at once, she heard a very familiar voice behind the threshold.

“I know you are there, Miss Callum! You cannot hide from me!” Sarah could not open the door too quickly.

Jacob stood at her doorstep with the same boyish smile that had rendered her breathless. He gazed at her with all the tenderness of a gentleman who has seen his sweetheart again. They both exchanged fleeting feelings of relief, now that they were in arm’s length away. It was Sarah who broke free from the spell first: she stepped forth and sensibly wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her cheek against his chest. Jacob shortly responded with his own embrace, and had leaned down to gift her with a brief yet endearing kiss on the crown of her head.

“I thought you had forgotten about me.” Sarah murmured to him.

“And why would I do that?” Jacob reached into his pocket and pulled out the timepiece. “This little thing had kept me aware of you for days, and not once did it fail in its task.”

Sarah glanced down at the small watch in his hand. Its polished surface was glistening in the sunlight, and the little ticks it made guaranteed that, indeed, Jacob Frye has returned. Their period of peace begins now: once they released each other, she guided him up to her rooms to show him the piecemeal rise of their vested interests and income. As Sarah moved around her worktable, Jacob noticed the neat stack of newspapers sitting beside it. He plucked one from the load and read the headline: Notorious Gang declares War on contending Opponents!

Looking over at Sarah, he wondered how many sleepless nights she had endured after reading each article every day. He folded the tabloid and inserted it back into the pile.

“Sarah,” he gingerly called out to her. The girl ceased her fuss and turned to look at him. “Are you well-rested?”

“Yes.” Sarah promptly answered. “Why the inquiry?”

Jacob neared and brushed a lock of hair away from her cherubim face to reveal the dark rings underneath her green eyes. She turned her head from his touch and walked toward the window.

“It is just the workload. We are doing our best to maintain your upkeep, and insure its safety from any Blighter that wishes to ruin you financially.” Sarah explained, dreamily stroking the petals of a blooming poppy.

“But you had waited for me.”

“Does my concern bother you?”

Jacob shook his head. “No, of course not. I appreaciate it, in fact.” He sat himself down on the edge of the desk and began to tap his foot relentlessly on the floor. The girl by the window bowed her head, somewhat ashamed. No, this isn’t how it was supposed to go. He moved from his position and gently tilted her so that she may look at him forwardly.

“I’d rather not argue with you, especially now that we’re here again. But I need you to promise me to take care of your well-being. Focus on your own missions, and I will do the same. Trust me, Sarah, it is much better that way.”

“Less affection, more distance. I understand that.” Sarah mumbled sarcastically.

“Oh, you cheeky girl!” Jacob cupped her face in his hands, wary enough not to trigger his Hidden Blade and accidentally killing his object of affection. 

He leaned down, feeling the brief tremble of hesitation in his grasp, and placed a light kiss on the tip of her nose. Sarah then began to beam in gladness and reciprocated his action with a peck on the chin. They kissed, but never on the lips. They touched, and each brush and caress held its own significance to the person receiving them.

Sarah let out a sigh of happiness as Jacob laid his forehead against hers. “I missed you,” she whispered. “I’ve dreamed about this moment, did you know that?”

“So have I. However, in my dream, you were begging me to kiss you here.” He swept her bottom lip with his thumb.

“Perhaps I will, someday.”

“And the prospect is torture on its own.”

They lingered in their embrace, unwilling to let go. Before long, they heard commotion from below, and the lovers knew that Cynthia had returned. When the maid did arrive, she gave a rather expectant look towards Jacob, who was sitting on the cushioned chair in the corner of the room, whereas Sarah was thumbing through her collection of daybooks. Her young mistress turned and fabricated an expression of shock.

“Cynthia, how goes the Sunday Mass?” Sarah inquired. Across the room, Jacob pursed his lips to stop any onrushing chuckle.

Although she was suspicious, Cynthia, nevertheless, replied to her mistress. “Tedious as per usual, Young Miss Callum. And yet, I was surprised to find two of the Sellars brothers attending the sermons as well.”

“Oh? Did they ask to be forgiven for their sins?” Jacob mocked, to which he received a knowing glare from the blonde girl near the bookcase. Cynthia excused herself to change her attire and departed from the room. Sarah quickly approached Jacob in hasty steps and smacked his knee with the book she held. 

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Really, Mr. Frye, you could have at least tried to be more sensitive with the beliefs of other people.” For added measure, she struck his other knee.

“Now, see here! I just fought some Blighter named Bloody Nora, and you think of it wise to assault me, Miss Callum?” He raised a brow at her, but ended up taking another hit.

“And yet you cannot even dodge that?” Sarah stepped back in time to avoid his grasp and slipped the book back into its shelf. Jacob leaned back into the chair, watching the girl smile ever so coyly at him. Then, she seemed as though something important came into her mind, and she ambled off to the other rooms, leaving him to guess what she had planned for her visitor.

Upon her return, Sarah carried a stack of large boxes, all wrapped up in green paper and fastened together by a bright yellow ribbon. “These came in the day before: do you recall Percy? The tailor whose shop we visited?”

“Ah, right. And the payment?” Jacob inquired.

“It is free of charge, he said. He is indebted to you after you liberated Whitechapel from the Blighters.” Sarah told him and placed the boxes onto the adjacent table. “The best part of gift boxes is the unwrapping.”

Jacob got to his feet and helped her unveil whatever creation that the old tailor had made. He removed the lid whilst Sarah pushed aside the layers of tissue to uncover the article of clothing inside. The Rook leader took out the emerald green waist coat from its home and approved of the silver hand-stitched embellishments on its smooth surface. He then eyed the red silk cravat that came along with it.

“Are they to your liking, Mr. Frye?” Sarah said, holding a particularly large round box.

With a grin, he said, “More than you know, love.” His attention shifted towards the item in her hands. “And what is this?”

“I thought that perhaps this should complete your ensemble.” Jacob lifted the cover to see something circular and flat laying within the depths of thin paper.

“Umm, this one is fine, I guess?” he said as he took out the rather flat headwear from its confines.

“Silly man, it’s a collapsible hat! Push it upwards!” Sarah said rather excitedly, and Jacob did just that, popping the top hat into its true form.  
The Assassin brushed his brown hair back and fixed his new topper upon his head. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Callum.” He gave a mock bow and offered his hand to her. “Shall we dance?”

“How about you complete your attire before asking a lady for a dance?” She said and placed the largest of the boxes into his awaiting hand. Jacob let out a sigh and complied. He went to the sitting room, where he removed his former clothes and donned the ones that have been gifted to him. As he slipped his arms into the coat, he felt around the lapels and was surprised to discover a hood had been added to the outerwear. With the belts buckled and his cravat loosely tied, he stepped out in a theatrical way, but then a remark had him frozen in place.

“Jacob, are you wearing bedsocks?” Sarah said, her eyes trained on his feet. She shook her head and let out a small laugh: she hurried to the wardrobe and pulled out a pair of black leather boots. “I find it fortunate for us both that Tim thought about your footwear. These are rather flexible, so as not to hinder your movements when running.”

“You are rather full of surprises today, Sarah.” Jacob said, toeing his old tattered shoes off and kicked them aside.

“It’s only because I had the time and savings for it.” Sarah commented, and the young man paused for a moment.

“You didn’t have to.”

“Jacob, most of them are linked to our faction, I’m certain that an allowance means very little to them, after all the goodness you have done.” She came up to his side and cocked his top hat. Once he had put on the leather boots, Jacob stood to his full height, turning around to allow Sarah to inspect his overall appearance.

“You look wonderfully exceptional, Mr. Frye.”

“Very much so,” Jacob sniggered. “How about we commend this reunion with a little payoff?” He could see the mischief blazing in her green eyes as he said those words.

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Frye?” Sarah approached him with a sway in her hips. She then fingered the cravat around his neck and waited for his scheme.

“Let’s hunt down this Mrs. Caddey and steal back the money she hoarded.” He suggested.

Mrs. Harlan Caddey was an old widow with a modest endowment, since her husband’s strange death (according to rumors, Mr. Caddey had plummeted down the spiral staircase in their home, breaking both spine and neck upon stopping at the ground floor. The police had suspected poisoning through his tea, but the evidence to prove their investigation had vanished without a trace). Now, his wife has sole proprietorship over their workhouse, transforming it into a corrupt place where the poor folks had no chance of education or a raise in their payment.

“And possibly redeem several helpless individuals?”

“A most thrilling adventure for both Jacob Frye and Sarah Callum.”

Sarah looked from him briefly and then smiled when she glanced at array of coats and other disguises in the wardrobe. “Go on to the Gilded Cage, and tell Tim to prepare the wagon and horse. I will meet you there in ten minutes.”

“Sounds like a plan.” Jacob gave her a little kiss on the cheek before turning to leave. “And please make it worth my while.”

“I shall not disappoint, Mr. Frye.” 

Surmounted by abundant pride and haughtiness in his contemporary attire, Jacob had forgotten his old clothes by the sitting room. Sarah went and folded them neatly; his cap, which she held with much tenderness, reminded her that he has now abandoned his youth in order to comply to the needs of his new-found role. She placed his clothing into the wardrobe and took out her own jacket, waistcoat, and trousers. Cynthia came to her aid thereafter Jacob had left, and assisted her mistress with her hair, twisting it into a tight bun before closing the flat cap over it. Since the garments were fashioned for young boys, they fitted Sarah like a glove. She checked her reflection before Cynthia spoke—

“You haven’t slept peacefully in a while, Young Miss,” she said.

“I understand, but the liveliness I feel is quite strong.” Sarah replied as she closed the last buttons on her linen shirt.

“At least be careful this time, Young Miss. I’d rather not open the door to hail bad news for a second time.” The maid sighed and explained that she will be visiting her mother in the East End, and wouldn’t return until tomorrow. 

The blonde girl smiled at her helper and friend; she gave her an additional salary of thirty pounds. The two girls hugged each other like dear sisters before they went on their separate ways. Sarah imitated the gait of young lad that had walked past her; she also mimicked the deep tenor of one brute-looking Rook, and that included the mannerisms of any typical thug. She was soon pushing through the doors of her late father’s alehouse and casually took the bar stool beside Jacob, who was enjoying a nice pint of beer. With her back against the counter, she leaned and rested her elbows along the edge.

“So, what’s your mighty plan today, boss?” she asked, using the tenor she had practiced on earlier.

Jacob looked at strange boy for a moment through narrowed eyes. “Do I know you, lad?”

Sarah, amused by how absurd the Rook leader was, began to play along with her role. “Not really, I’m actually quite new to this sort of livelihood you’re livin’, and I wanted to know how you work.”

“Ah, still a bit green I see. Unfortunately, I am very preoccupied for later, so you’ll have to ask your questions to some other Rook.” He explained to her.

“Aww, come on, Mr. Frye! Divulge a little a least!” Then, she inclined towards him and said, “People keep sayin’ that you’re the most wicked person yet! And, me bein’ wantin’ a part in the Rooks, want to see if it’s true!” 

Jacob regarded her for an instant. “All right,” he said, slamming his tin mug against the surface of the bar. “Today, I’m going to seize some valuables from a Mrs. Caddey.”

“Ooh, are you going to kill her?” Sarah asked and observed the flash of emotions in Jacob’s features. When he shook his head, she felt the need to quit her game of pretend, but then he continued.

“No. She may be a hoarding old hag, but that’s not enough to snuff out her weak light. However, time cannot say the same thing.” He reached into his pocket and took out a familiar silver timepiece. “She’ll meet her tail end soon, lad. If not time, then her inequity will see her out.”

Sarah sat there, feeling her admiration for the young man steadily growing inside of her. Before she could reveal herself to him, Tim suddenly came down from his office upstairs and walked along the bar towards them.

“Ah! Mr. Frye, good ta see ya still knockin’ around!” The Scotsman reached over and harshly patted Jacob on the back that the Rook leader nearly coughed out his drink. Then, to a disguised Sarah, he said, “Up ta yer schemes again, Miss Callum?”

Jacob blinked once, twice, while Sarah could only smile and raise her hands in surrender. The Assassin rapidly grabbed at the blonde girl and pulled her out of her seat. She let out a loud laugh as Jacob began to use his stubble to tickle the delicate areas around her neck. Ere long, she was wriggling in his tight grasp, much to the entertainment of the Rooks, and soon enough, Jacob stopped.

“You tricked me again, you little blonde imp.” He murmured into her skin as his mouth dangerously traced a path from her cheek to her jawline.

“Well, it simply proves that my disguise is quite plausible.” Sarah responded and adjusted her posture so she could sit on his strong thighs. “So, what is the actual plan? Do we only steal the money, or do we help the needy?”

Jacob hummed. “How about this: I head for the money, while you rescue those who need the most help out of all those people in the workhouse? And, with our salvaged finances, we can distribute them to the poor people. Is that agreeable?”

In response, Sarah wrapped her arms around his broad shoulders and placed a kiss on the scar that went through his right eyebrow. “Yes, a flawless plan, indeed, Mr. Frye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took up a lot of time because I didn't know what these two lovebirds will do once they see each other again. Of course, a lot of you expected some heartwarming welcome, and there it is! The time lapse was pretty significant due to the missions regarding the Crate Escape, plus the Gang War with Bloody Nora.
> 
> This is how I imagined Sarah's "Lazy Sunday" clothes to look like: http://pre-raphaelisme.tumblr.com/image/125939992851
> 
> Also, Jacob finally has his Outdoorsman Outfit! And this is ten pages of fluff and cuteness of these two! Next chapter, they will head over to the workhouse, rescue some elderly and some children, meet Abberline perhaps, and then go back to the train hideout because, surprise! Sarah still hasn't visited the train yet!
> 
> So thank you so much for reading the latest chapter of TDATR, hope to see you again in the next!


	22. All the Worth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Sarah are heading towards their first mission together, but they find that they're not alone in this.

“Jacob, it seems we’re not the only ones with a mission.” Sarah whispered to her partner and gestured towards a hunched over figure prowling along the gates of the workhouse. The Assassin narrowed his eyes before tugging on the reins to halt the Hackney horse. Prior to their arrival, the couple had gone over their scheme a second time as they will be dealing with the lives of people. Sarah had told him that the money will likely be stored in the office of Mrs. Caddey, and that he should bring the wagon around the main gate within twenty minutes of retrieving it. Jacob had agreed because it was rather plausible: he received a light pinch in the cheek, which was followed by a quick peck along the jaw.

“I think I know who that is.” Jacob said. He glanced over to Sarah, who was struggling to keep her long hair in place underneath her hat; his flat cap, to be exact. “Come on, let’s go talk to him.”

The two dismounted the coach box and casually approached the snooping man, who wore a moth-eaten workhouse uniform, complete with fingerless wool gloves and leather boots. A red scarf covered the lower half of his face, while an undersized cap rested on his head. Jacob fixed his own top hat before reaching over to tap the man’s shoulder: the old fellow quickly turned around, poorly swinging a fist at his unknown assailant. The younger Frye twin let out a devilish laugh and tugged down on the red scarf to reveal a familiar face.

“Freddy! It’s been a long time since I last saw your unshaven bristles around these parts!” he exclaimed once his favorite ally had been revealed.

“Oh, it had to be you!” Inspector Abberline cursed. “Damn it, what gave me away?”

“For one thing, you’re wearing the wrong color of uniform,” Sarah told him. “Secondly, you’re not supposed to have a scarf over your face since you’re not laboring at a factory. And thirdly, you smell quite fragrant for someone who lives in a workhouse.”

Frederick stared at the young boy dressed in scraggy clothing, whose face was still round and supple with youth. “And who is this?”

Jacob couldn’t resist the urge to grin. He placed an arm around Sarah’s shoulder and pulled her close to his side. “This is my apprentice, Mr. Samuel Teaser, and I’m here to test his skills and see if he can join me and the lads. Sam, this here is Inspector Frederick Abberline, one of my very good friends, and a skillful master of disguise.” His tone of voice was entirely laced in sarcasm and mirth.

Sarah tensed a little. “An officer of the law, Mr. Frye? Can we trust him?” she inquired.

“Of course! We can trust him, lad.” Then, Jacob’s wicked grin grew in width. “Actually, now that we’re here, Freddy, can you tell us what you’re doing here on this fine Sunday?”

The Inspector glared at the two before letting out a frustrated sigh. “All right, listen well: we’ve been receiving a lot of complaints regarding this one workhouse. The person who wrote the account said that their mistress has not been treating the poor people befittingly, and would often keep the treasuries for her own personal use. The reports were taken in, but we’ve hardly lifted a finger about it until now.”

“Well, what a stroke of luck! Mr. Teaser and I were just about to liberate these workhouse folks ourselves. Thank you for lending a helping hand, Freddy.” Jacob said and patted the older gentleman’s shoulder twice. 

Without releasing Sarah from his clutch, he sauntered over to the gates and scrutinized the red brick building in front of him. He triggered his special ability, sweeping the whole structure for entry points and exits. There were at least ten blue silhouettes patrolling the three main floors, with his target, swathed in gold light, apparently occupied inside her office on the far right side of the workhouse.

“All right, I know of a way inside, but how are you going to get in without detection?” Jacob had to ask, even though he knew that Sarah had her own shrewd methods.

“There is a reason why we are here during the lunch hour: the men will return from their workplaces very soon, so the Inspector and I will blend into the masses,” she explained.

The Assassin nodded. He then faced Frederick and told him, “Take care of the young lad, will you, Freddy? He’s a bit of a rascal if you don’t watch him carefully.” The policeman could only nod at him in agreement.

“And you,” he pointed a finger at Sarah. “I think you will need this more than I do.” Taking out the silver timepiece from his pocket, he gently held her hand and placed it into her open palm.

“Until we meet again, Mr. Teaser.” Jacob winked at her before vaulting over the wall and vanishing onto the other side of the property.

Sarah tucked the watch into her pocket; she then turned to her companion and studied his ragged appearance: his beard adhered to that of the current trend, although it somehow needed a good trim, or a good shave if he allowed it. He looked to be hoary, but it might have been caused by his tiresome occupation, as his face lacked a crow’s-foot or creases at the side of his eyes. Frederick didn’t appear to be a bad person; he was like a second Mr. Wheaton: visibly pestered by the troubles of the world, but was kind-hearted and soft on the inside.

“What are you looking at?” Frederick questioned her.

“Nothing, sir. I’m just trying to fathom why the Boss would need you, we‘re criminals, after all.” She said in the practiced voice she used on Jacob.

Frederick huffed, slightly annoyed by the boy’s defiance. “Yes, you are criminals, and each one of you deserve to be locked behind bars. However, I find that in order to catch a culprit and lawbreaker, you must seek the aid of one who has a similar mindset as them.”

“This is a dangerous game you’re playing, sir.”

“I know, but someone has to do something, or else the streets of London will be riddled with rats for as long as the Queen shall live.” Frederick said, and then let out a short gasp when he felt a small hand grab at his shirt. The boy was now dragging him across the street and pressed him against the alley wall. 

The porter then appeared to open the gates, allowing the tenants into their meager home. Sarah peered around the corner, waiting for the perfect opportunity to slip into the crowd. To Frederick, she said, “Come on, we have to go now, and please keep your head down until I say so!”

“W-What are you doing, lad?!” Frederick said, but his words became hushed as he and the strange boy were now mingling into the crowd. He bowed his head, just as planned, and made sure to rub himself against the sweat-stained arms of the workers in order to hide his smell. Sam was keeping him steady: they sauntered past the bleary-eyed porter, and were on their way toward the steps when, over the clamor of complaints, someone shouted at them to stop.

Frederick tried to turn, but the Rook initiate had gripped his elbow, and, with a look of assurance, had gestured him to remain in place. Sam turned to face one of the watchmen and dared to grin at the approaching brute.

“And who the hell are you two?” he said, sending a bit of spit in their direction.

“Oh, didn’t you know, sir? We’ve just been moved from the spike up in Northampton.” Sarah explained in the gruff accent she had been using all day. “My old pa here still hasn’t been put into your work clothes since we came here, so please excuse his odor.” She then leaned forward to add, “I say, he’s been smelling like a dog since last Tuesday, and I think it be better if we get him some new garments, or else your mistress finds out, and you’re to be blamed.”

The watchman scratched his head at that, but seemed to agree, nonetheless. “Right, and what’re your names?”

“Samuel Teaser, sir, and this here is my pa, Freddy Teaser.” Sarah gave her impression of a proud son patting the hunched back of his mute father. The watchman nodded and then told them to follow the others toward the Male Ward. Sarah guided Frederick down the hallway, but had steadied their pace until there was no one left behind, or in front of them.

Sarah immediately stopped, surprising the older fellow beside her. “I’m afraid I will have to leave this to you, Mr. Abberline. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes, lad, now continue!” Frederick hissed at her, obviously irritated for being called a wet dog from earlier.

“All right, I need you to gather some able-bodied men, and have them round up anyone who are willing to escape the workhouse. If you’re able to, I want you to convince them to join the Rooks,” she clarified.

Frederick nodded. “Right, and what about those who do not wish to be criminals and wandering beggars?”

Sarah simply smirked at him. “Tell them to find Tim, at the Gilded Cage in Whitechapel. The Dove will help them. Now, go! Mr. Frye is probably done by then!” She patted his shoulder before heading off in search of the laundry room.

To her horror, it was found in the underground area, where there was minimum lighting. Women of varying ages were tossing clothes this way and that, steadying the current of dirtied clothes that fell through the chute. The blonde girl glanced around; she saw a pair of young women gossiping about while a gray-haired superintendent was lecturing another unfortunate girl who could not do a decent fold of the sheets. Sarah got down and hide behind a mountain of baby linens as the old woman strode past her, and disappeared up the stairs. She examined the spacious room before stepping out of the pile. A few girls gasped aloud at the sudden appearance, but she quickly removed her flat cap to liberate her long blonde hair.

“Hush, everyone! I’m a bearer of good news!” she said to them.

“What did she say?”

“She said she brings good news!”

“Are you sure we can trust her?”

“Listen,” Sarah shushed all of them. “At this very moment, my colleagues and I are working to free you from the corrupt Mrs. Caddey. She has been keeping the money all for her personal gain while you thrive and starve for nothing. Unfortunately, we have to take only those who wish to join us at this very moment. Nevertheless, the police will come to arrest Mrs. Caddey, and we guarantee that you will be sent to more trustworthy workhouses in London.”

She waited as the women began to speak to themselves, discussing who should go or who should stay. Before long, she had gained the loyalty of three girls, ranging from the age of fourteen to sixteen. After giving them a task to assemble some of the vulnerable children, she then returned to the surface, where the lack of watchmen had her thinking that Jacob had already taken the coffer of money. Sarah asked her ladies to hurry as they guided her to the Female Ward, where orphaned children, mothers, and unmarried girls were placed.

“Please, you have to come with us. We will be taking the children to a more suitable place to be raised.” Sarah said to the group of nurses. “Once Mrs. Caddey’s graft is revealed, you will all be moved to better houses with proficient management, we are certain of it.”

Though a majority of them had chosen to stay and wait for the terror to be put to justice, there were several women who wished to join the Rooks instead. They gathered the babes from their cradles and cots, and assured the crying children that they will return for them. Sarah checked her watch and noted the current time: three minutes until Jacob comes with the wagon. However, over the excitement of the chattering women, she heard a loud commotion that arose from the Male Ward.

The young woman rushed toward the source and was able to stop herself before a horde of screaming men ran past her. She detected Abberline struggling in the flow of inmates: Sarah took a deep breath before converging herself into the stampede, managing to capture the confused inspector, and drag him onto an alcove.

“What is the meaning of this? I thought we agreed to have only several selected people!” Sarah shouted, not caring if her voice reverted back to normal.

“I’ve tried! But when I mentioned that Jacob Frye is inside the building, they decided to take up arms and distract the watchmen to help us escape!” Frederick exclaimed, his face contorted into one of pure panic.

Sarah pressed her lips together before letting out a laugh. “Oh, this is definitely what Jacob would have wanted.” Soon after she mentioned that, there was a loud crash coming from the outside, and a fight ensued.

“Well, with this sort of havoc, the police are bound to come quickly.” Frederick muttered. “Um, thank you, in any case. I personally observed the cruelty that Mrs. Caddey had done towards the lesser people, and rest assured, she will be trialed and sent to prison.”

“All in a day’s work, I guess.” The girl, still disguised as a juvenile boy, shook hands with the inspector, and then added, “But this does not mean I will trust you from here on, sir.”  
The older man exhaled through his nose. “I believe you are unreasonably protective of your Boss, Mr. Teaser.”

“Oh, I have every reason to be conservative of him, Mr. Abberline.” She steeled her voice to display her disregard to the authority, and glared hard until they both heard a familiar voice calling out to them.

“Sarah! Freddy! What are you two doing in there? We have to leave!” Jacob shouted from the coach box of the wagon. Behind him were the women from before, accompanied by a few men and a small group of children.

“Did he just call you Sarah?” Frederick asked.

“Your hearing must be unreliable, sir! Of course he didn’t!”

Sarah and Frederick ran out of the chaotic workhouse, pushing past those who directly took on the watchmen in a brutal fight. Jacob reached over to help Sarah up on the box; when he held out a hand to Frederick, the man declined, explaining that he had to wait for the rest of his men to arrive on the scene of the crime. The Assassin nodded at him and quickly steered the horse into a quick trot. The pandemonium went on for several more hours until the proper authorities arrived to put everything back in line.

“You know, I’ve always had a slight fear of policemen,” Sarah said quietly to Jacob.

“Oh? I didn’t know about that,” he said.

“Indeed, it is because you never asked,” she smiled at him and took off her flat cap. “However, despite what happened today, I can make Inspector Abberline an exception, seeing that he depends on you to bring in the real felons.” She looked straight ahead to watch the trotting horse. A while later, a strong arm wound its way around her, and pulled her close to the man seated next to her. Jacob leaned in and planted a kiss on her cheek; he nuzzled his beard against her jaw, and softly inhaled her scent.

They soon stopped the wagon along a lately acquired Rooks territory in Southwark. Here, the rescued folks could seek cleaner occupations, and rent lodgings for themselves at a much cheaper price. Sarah turned to the women and told them to find the Gilded Cage once they have settled in their new home. They later brought the children to an orphanage run by Sarah’s helpers, where they will be cared for by nurses and former governesses. Soon, Jacob and Sarah returned the horse and wagon to Whitechapel. The exhaustion of that day’s activities finally caught up to them, and the younger Frye twin decided to invite his young lover over to the hideout. To be honest, Sarah had not yet stepped foot into their private locomotive, and so she agreed to come with him.

To think that Kaylock would keep such a beauty of a machine all to himself. That glutton. The blonde girl observed the exterior of the train, noting that it looked as though someone had placed a fresh coat of paint over its surface. Jacob assisted her into his private car, eager to show her everything. Sarah may have pursed her mouth at the sight of scattered papers and books all over the floor. There was a dirtied shirt carelessly tossed over a chair, and several beer bottles were lined up along the floor.

“Umm, well, I apologize for the mess. I wasn’t expecting a guest today.” Jacob clarified.

“To be quite fair, I wasn’t expecting your invitation either, so let us not blame our faults.” Sarah said, and then let out a long yawn. “I’m sorry, Jacob. I feel so tired all of a sudden.”

He led her to his favorite couch and compelled her to recline against the bunch of pillows. She had tried to decline his idea, sensing that he too was tired. However, the Assassin was persistent, and the girl had no choice but to give up. She rested her head upon the pillows, and instinctively sighed in relaxation. Her eyes began to droop heavily: Jacob watched her with great delight, and when she had finally fallen asleep, he began to untie her boots and unfastened the top buttons of her linen shirt. His hand hovered over the small expanse of pale skin that was revealed to him, and he softly traced the outline of her collarbone with careful precision. Thinking that it was inappropriate to touch a sleeping beauty, he moved away and began to peel off his coat, and placed his top hat onto a nearby table.

Settling down on the floor beside the couch, Jacob contemplated the faint rise and fall of Sarah’s chest as she blissfully slumbered away. He seized a downy pillow that was hidden underneath the furniture, and used it to cushion his head as he decided to prop himself against the frame. Then, he too began to fall into a much deserved sleep; though he will wake up with a sore neck, Jacob thought it was all worth it, if it meant having Sarah this close to him in a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Freddy has made an appearance! And it took at least twenty-two chapters until he made his debut! God, I am such an awful person.
> 
> Regarding Sarah's fear of policemen: this is quite rational since Sarah has been a thief long before she became who she is now, and even though she has other things to keep her occupied, sometimes the urge to pluck something shiny and new is hard to ignore~
> 
> Aah, and have you guys read my other latest fanfics? Margaux will be a serious story, and I will guarantee that there will be nice smutty goodness in it! Because who can resist the handlebar moustache of dreams? Pearl Attaway, apparently.


	23. There was Laughter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While trouble begins to brew in Lambeth, Evie and Jacob take their moment of relief, all while trying to watch over Viola.

“Curse this god-forsaken weather!” muttered Mr. Wheaton. He tipped back his top hat and used a clean white handkerchief to wipe the perspiration on his forehead.

Oh, how he would love to have a cool wet cloth pressed against his face at the moment. He always loathed the task of purchasing his ingredients for the medicines he produced: the prices were often absurd, and would seldom alter depending on the prime location. Today, his preferred purveyor of opium had decided to put a retail stall on the Thames, and it had to be particularly hot for a fine spring afternoon. The privileged doctor thought the man was a fool to be having contraband items out in the open, but when he saw that the merchant had used a façade of cheap hats and parasols to hide his actual livelihood, Mr. Wheaton elected to keep his opinions to himself.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Wheaton! I say, you have excellent timing! I’ve just received a new shipment of opium and morphine today, so I pledge that it is still fresh for the mixing!” the portly man said as he rummaged through a large casket beneath the table.

Mr. Wheaton inwardly raised his eyes to the heavens. “Yes, yes, Gregory, by all means, do announce it to the entire world! And while you are at it, could you please hurry up?”

“Of course, sir!” There was a tinkering of glasses before the unauthorized druggist placed a small red box upon the table. The doctor lifted the lid to check its contents: so far, they were all of equal allotment and had been compressed into fine powder, just as he strictly requested. Mr. Wheaton quickly shut the cover and procured a roll of banknotes from his pocket, thanking his endorsed merchant for the trade.

Before he could turn to depart, however, Gregory called him out in a near anxious tone. “Oh, Mr. Wheaton! In case you haven’t heard it yet, Doctor Elliotson was murdered the other week, and people say that some young gentleman in a top hat did it in cold blood.”

Mr. Wheaton hummed. He has heard of certain rumors pertaining the death of Elliotson, and that Lambeth Asylum will soon shut down due to the lack of a proper superintendent. “I am quite attentive of the news, Gregory, thank you very much. And I must say good riddance to the old man who ruined his own career! Now, I must take my leave: I have laudanum to ferment, and tonics to be auctioned off!”

He soon found himself rushing into his clinic, thanking God that his supplies have not yet been raided by any foul demon. Mr. Wheaton’s stride had been rather frantic and rushed, he did not even notice the young blond-haired woman sitting behind the desk, rummaging through his belongings as if it were her personal business. It wasn’t until the doctor had turned around did he finally noticed Sarah’s presence in the room. Mr. Wheaton gasped, clutching at his heart as if an arrow had pierced through the organ.

“For God’s sake, you little she-devil! How did you get in here!?” he exclaimed aloud. The man was tempted to toss a jar full of morphine at her innocent visage.

“Your front door was open.” Sarah answered straightforwardly.

“I locked the damn thing before I left!”

“Then, perhaps the wind gave it a good jostle.” The girl smiled, clearly enjoying the look of annoyance on the older gentleman. “I’m here for the monthly tonics, Mr. Wheaton.”  
The doctor turned his head away to silently curse the bodily functions of the female body. To Sarah, he said, “Well, you’re in luck, I have a set of medicine arranged for you right here, and I will have to blend a new batch soon for the succeeding ladies.”

“How thoughtful of you, Mr. Wheaton.” Sarah approached his depository, but he stopped her from coming closer by raising an iron stirring rod in her direction. The blonde girl pouted and crossed her arms, but started a new discussion, nevertheless. “Have you heard the news of Lambeth Asylum?”

“Of course, I did, It was all over the newspapers. From what the journalists elucidated, the killer was rather attractive; must be a close relative to one of those abused patients.”

Sarah smiled softly at the subtle mention of Jacob. Then, her smile quickly evaporated. “But what I am more concerned about are the burgeoning rumors stirring in the market, they mention that random people are starting to make their versions of Soothing Syrups.” She did not miss the slight delay in the doctor’s movements.

Mr. Wheaton let out a profound sigh before continuing to forage through his supplies. “You must understand, Miss Callum, that I am not a gentleman who would do such foul methods if it meant taking advantage of the poor.”

“I know you are, Mr. Wheaton, that is why I trust you enough to make a solution should trouble arise in the medical world.” She told him, and added, “Fortunately, most of the prime movers of these counterfeit medicines are pin-pointed in the borough of Lambeth, and tonight I plan to investigate the sources of this illegal business.”

“On your own? Bah! You should bring along some of those dumb oafs you call Rooks! Surely they do not mind having a bullet lodged into their thick skulls!” Mr. Wheaton said and plucked several glass vials from their shelves, which he then placed in a white coffer.

“Why, I didn’t know you still cared for me, sir!” Sarah replied jovially.

The doctor scoffed. “Remember: one teaspoon a day from the beginning until the end of your monthly cycle. Do not overdose, or you will poison yourself like last year.”

“I simply wanted to test my limitations!”

“Regardless of how healthy you may seem, our natural immunity will take a long while to recover what it had lost. Poisoning is not a subject you must joke about, you scamp!”

The girl pursed her lips into a thin line and nodded. “All right, I understand, sir.”

Sarah then seized the tonics made for her constitution, and turned to walk out of the door. Mr. Wheaton was irked by her lack of courtesy, but he quickly returned to his mission of ensuring the safety of his works and drugs, creating antidotes for whatever poison that the Lambeth residents have consumed.

The Olive Branch was abundant with their regular patrons, including numerous Rooks, who were there to taste the finest loaf of bread in Whitechapel. Sarah smiled and patted their arms in gratitude; day by day she had been welcoming a considerable number of gang members ever since she and Jacob had disclosed their budding relationship to them. They had been relatively generous toward her, but there were others who continued to criticize her role as their personal chamberlain from the Black Market.

Cynthia expressed her relief upon the return of her young mistress: Viola was having a fit over a casual ache in her right cheek. They had explained to her that people often went through varying stages of growth, and that a toothache was simply a part of that phase. But the child went on with her tantrum: she pouted a lot more often, knocked her dolls off their perch on the window sill, and had even broken a vase during her energetic outburst. In the end, Sarah had given the little girl a slice of onion to chew on, as this was also a remedy that her own Father had advised when she was younger.

Viola cried harder once she tasted the acrid flavor of the vegetable, but her foster parent encouraged her to bite on the wedge until the pain subsided. Before long, the little girl was calm again, although Cymbeline refused to sit next to her due to the strong odor of onion and sweat mingling together.

“Children can be quite vexing at times,” Cynthia muttered. She had gone to fetch a bowl of cold water and a towel to bathe Viola, and subsequently changed her garb into a much cleaner one.

“I wager that your mother said the same thing when she raised you.” Sarah said jokingly. She placed her coffer of laudanum in the upper shelf of her cabinet, so that it was out of Viola’s curious reach. “How about I take care of our little ward for the entire afternoon? In a way, you’ll be able to carry on your work without further complications.”

“Are you certain, Young Miss Callum? Will it not be a bother to you?”

“Do you wish to hear more of her insistent and loud howling?” Cynthia could not have agreed sooner.

Sarah let out a laugh at her maid’s swift answer, and began to assist around the bakery to lighten the workload. When all of the customers were served, and the shelves refreshened every minute or so, the juvenile owner hurried back to her rooms upstairs to change out of her work clothes: she had put on a brown kirtle with buttoned sleeves, a mustard yellow overgown with red hand-stitched embroidery at the hem, and a pair of plain brown boots and grey socks. She then assisted her ward into a similar ensemble, but it looked more adorable on her, considering her size and rosy cheeks.

“Come on, Viola, let’s go have a tour of London, shall we? The weather seems acceptable, and the air is not putrid either.” Sarah said whilst adjusting the bonnet on the girl’s head. They both wished the employees and Rooks a brief farewell, to Cynthia most especially, and strolled out of the Olive Branch to commingle with the populace of Whitechapel.

Viola hastily clutched onto Sarah’s swishing skirts as they entered the packed train station. Her guardian ambled toward a black transport and greeted the handler of the locomotive. She was soon plucked from the ground by a pair of strong arms, finding herself entering one of the many cars of the train. Her intense desire to know what was this and what was that had been triggered by the miscellaneous objects placed inside the unfamiliar home. She darted towards the writing desk, where she quickly seized a piece of parchment paper. It had words, but she could barely understand what they meant.

“What is it that you have there?” A dark-haired woman with freckled cheeks inquired her. Viola handed the paper to the stranger before turning her attention to a comfortable chair. Evie briefly smiled and tucked the research note back into the portfolio.

“Where are you venturing off today?” She heard Henry converse with Sarah at the other end of the car.

“City of London. I had called for a meeting with our auditors at The Golden Embers.” Sarah explained to him.

“And you’re taking that little girl along with you? In a room full of businessmen?”

“Viola has been having a toothache, so I thought I’d take her on a stroll to forget the pain. And because Cynthia has her hands full, I had no one else to watch over her.”

“We can tend to her while you are gone.” Evie interjected. Both Henry and Sarah looked at her as though she had just suddenly appeared with all of their much needed answers. “She does not seem like a troublesome child, and I know how consuming the gathering must be.”

Sarah regarded the older Frye twin for a moment. “All right, but should a problem arise, you will know where to find me.”

“Certainly.” Henry answered on behalf of Evie.

When the train hideout came to a stop in the City of London, Viola scurried back to Sarah and held her arms up to be carried. Instead, she felt a hand softly pet the top of her head as her foster mother bent down to plant an affectionate kiss on her brow.

“I have to leave for now, Viola,” she heard Sarah say. Then, a shiny silver timepiece came into her view, and she couldn’t help but let out a small coo. “But I will return shortly after the long hand points to twelve, and the short hand points at five, do you understand?” Viola looked at Henry and Evie before nodding her head.

“Good. Miss Frye and Mr. Green will look after you while I’m gone, so please be nice, and try not to knock something over.” With that, Sarah handed her necklace to the child, and got up to leave the car.

The little girl was now staring up at the couple standing before her. She recognized the dark-skinned fellow as the Indian who constantly visited them a few times at the bakery, but the woman standing beside him was still unknown to her. Viola’s eyes moved at an alarming speed for a child of her age: compared to Sarah’s rooms, where the walls were intended to be bright and cheerful, the car she was currently stranded in was rather dark. And it was too quiet.

“No toys,” she said.

Evie hummed. “I should have thought of this thoroughly.”

Henry could only offer a reassuring smile. “Try reading to her, it is one of the ways that could keep her preoccupied for the meantime.”

“Right; but there are no storybooks in the library.” Evie told him, and she felt a slight blush amalgating in her cheeks.

“I’m sure even a picture book could suffice. Go on, introduce yourself, and then offer to read a book to her.” 

As soon as they turned their head towards the child, however, they found that she was no longer there in front of them. Evie quickly turned and saw Viola standing at the doorway, looking down at the link between the two cars. The shrilling whistle soon pierced the air, and the train began to move. Both Assassins held their breath when the child suddenly tilted forward with no rail to latch onto. But then, she steadied herself back on her feet, and twirled about to explore more of the carriage.

“I can see why Sarah was somewhat hesitant.” Evie remarked once Viola began to climb onto Jacob’s chaise lounge and toss the pillows to the floor. “Viola, please don’t do that.” The said girl stared, confused as to why someone was stopping her made-up game.

“Viola,” Henry called out to her. “Would you like to help me with something important?” She shifted her attention to him, and with utmost timidity, she nodded. Evie watched in slight amazement when Viola jumped off the bed and ran up to Henry’s side.

“Is it really important?” she asked Henry.

“Yes. You see, I have a book that contains a hundred of amazing pictures hidden inside it, but it seems that I’ve lost it somehow. Do you wish to find this book?”

Viola nodded excitedly. Henry showed her to the bookshelf and guided her to where he had last seen this cherished book. Soon enough, the little girl was begging to be hoisted, so she could search through the upper rows, until she pulled out a dog-eared red journal. She held it up for Henry’s inspection: the Indian nodded once, and Viola giggled happily. Evie recognized it being one of his personal memoirs as it held drawings of his homeland. Before long, Henry and Viola sat down on the lounge, and they read what was supposedly a great tale about a heroic assassin, a beautiful princess, and a mystical blue diamond. Evie watched the two interact with each turn of the page; her disputed feelings toward the gentleman sitting across from her continued to swell by the minute, and she had to bite the inside of her cheek to remind her the limitations of an Assassin. Nevertheless, she let a smile grace her appearance every now and then, especially when the child mimicked Henry’s imitation of a tiger’s growl.

“Is this a dream? Or have I died and was sent straight into a personal Hell?” Evie resisted the urge to roll her eyes when her younger twin strolled into the carriage. Jacob smirked ever so playfully toward his sister before shifting his gaze to the girl sitting beside Henry.

“Jacob, this is Viola, she is Sarah’s ward.” Evie told him.

“Sarah came by? Whatever for?” Jacob said, his hazel eyes glimmering with eagerness.

“Miss Sarah had to attend a meeting with our auditors. Since a child has no place in a pub full of old men, we’ve volunteered to watch over Viola until she returns.” Henry clarified. The subject of their topic slowly glanced up toward Jacob before a look of recognition passed through her face.

“Jacob!” she said, pointing a finger at him.

“You’ve met before?” Evie inquired.

Jacob arrogantly grinned. “Well, I am an honorary guest at Sarah’s, I don’t see why Viola wouldn’t remember me.” To Viola, he smiled and easily picked her up from the lounge. “Hello there, sweetie, do you want to come with me to the Rooks’ carriage? I was just about to celebrate my victory against a group of Blighters in Southwark.”

Evie quickly intervened. “Jacob, you’re not taking her there.” Her brother jokingly held the child away from her reach, and stuck out his tongue in defiance.

“It’s not like she will drink with the lads!” Jacob laughed before running out of the car to leap onto the next one. Viola let out a scream of delight at the unexpected jump, and had tightly wrapped her arms around Jacob’s neck. The new location was darker than the one they had just left behind, but here the smell of alcohol was dormant, and she had to scrunch her nose a bit in slight disgust.

“You’ll get used to it, lass.” Jacob said, and could not resist the urge to tickle the girl’s cheek with his beard. The sound of genuine giggling filled the entire carriage, and the present Rooks glanced up, confused, pondering over the fact that their Boss has suddenly acquired a little girl out of thin air.

“All right, lads! Another portion of territory has been won over today! Soon, Southwark will be ours!” Jacob exclaimed and raised a fist into the air. Everyone cheered and howled for their beloved leader, and each barked their need for beer and ale toward the barkeeper.

The younger Frye twin then settled Viola onto a nearby table, where she studied her new surroundings with the same curiosity. Jacob returned with his own pint of beer; he deftly removed his top hat and placed it upon Viola’s head, only for the head wear to slip past her crown and cover her head entirely. The Rooks paused to observe what their Boss had done, and when the girl lifted the hat to reveal a wide grin, everyone laughed and resumed their celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! I really apologize for the long delay! Work has been just aggravating this month, what with the prom nights and the other things college kids do before the summer vacation!
> 
> This chapter is meant to be a filler before the Fake Tonics Mission. As you can see, Evie is a little reluctant to take care of children who could barely interact with other people. Let's just say I like an awkward Evie Frye, because that is so precious.


	24. No more Reservations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah believes that she is ready to move onto the next level of her relationship with Jacob.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting all of you this afternoon. We will hold this assembly again by the end of next month, and I expect the ledgers to be correct by that time.”

The five men that sat at the round table simultaneously stood up the minute their juvenile manager concluded their first business gathering. Sarah maintained a confident smile as she wrote down her signature for each record book after going through the monotonous task of rummaging through the various investments. So far, the extensive purchase of beer, ale, and other categories of alcohol were at the very top of the list, followed by property damage, and the average foodstuff. Surprisingly, ammunition supplies came at fourth.

There had also been talk about hiring affiliated tailors to fashion the iconic green jacket and yellow scarf for its new members, as well as forming the decorative flag for each stronghold within the boroughs: Sarah had asked them to seek out anyone who are willing enough to assist the Rooks in their cause, particularly from the middle and lower classes. When everything had been agreed upon, negotiations were formed, and every auditor was pleased with the finalities.

Sarah offered to pay for the drinks that the men consumed, but the keeper of the ale house waved her away, and inclined his head ever so slightly toward the conversing gentlemen, as if to say Let the men pay for their own expense. The young woman said her farewells and stepped out into the street. It was a lovely evening outside: the skies were bathed in colors of orange, pinks, and yellows, and the wind was gentle against her unkempt hair. As she made to turn at the corner of the building, something suddenly grabbed her by the elbow and pulled her into the alley. Intuitively, she shrieked and shut her eyes closed.

Engulfed in the stranger’s clutches, Sarah struggled to free herself from their iron grasp, until she heard a familiar voice ringing in her ears, and she peeked up to see the grinning face of one Jacob Frye.

“You cheeky sod!” she shouted; her face promptly turning red with embarrassment.

Jacob tickled her flushed cheeks with his beard before giving her a small kiss on the brow. “Forgive me, my lady?”

Sarah glared at him as she tried to calm her nerves. “I think I need to sit down.”

Jacob’s look of amusement soon altered into that of worriment. “Sarah, I did not mean to hurt you, are you all right? Do I need to call an apothecary? Do you feel light-headed?” He watched in panic when he saw her shoulders visibly shuddering. The Rook leader took hold of the young woman and steadied her posture, only to hear bubbling giggles coming from his companion.

Sarah glanced over her shoulder to look at his expression, and once she saw the confusion on his visage, she allowed her laughter to run freely. Jacob was clearly irked by her folly, but he quickly gathered the young woman into his arms and spun her about, his own rich laughter interweaving with hers. Eventually, he settled her back on the ground and tucked a lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

“I should have known better than to trick you.” Jacob said with a tilt of his head.

“I must say the same, knowing what you are and what you do.” Sarah replied and ran a finger along the embroidery on his waistcoat. “How did you know where to find me?”

“I have my ways.”

“You acquired information from Evie, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” 

Sarah laughed again; she then wrapped her arms around Jacob’s neck and pulled him closer for a well-deserved embrace. Jacob eagerly returned the warm gesture before guiding her through the alleyway, and onto the streets again. He told her about his latest victory in Southwark, and how he celebrated it in the train hideout. At that mention, Sarah asked if he had seen Viola, the young orphan girl she currently fostered.

“Ah, yes, Viola. She’s actually quite the jovial child: prefers the noise and clamor instead of the quietude Evie and Greenie had to offer.” Jacob told her.

“I hope she did not cause much trouble while I was gone. She can be an agreeable child, but once given the chance, she has the capacity to be much destructive as she wishes.” Sarah explained, leaning further to rest her head against Jacob’s arm.

“It is because you lack the ability to discipline her.”

“That is true, but old Mrs. Smith has done enough damage in her punishments to forever traumatize the poor child.”

Jacob smiled down at the woman beside her. “Viola is very lucky to have met you.”

Upon nearing the train station, the Rook leader announced that he was planning to enter another exciting prize-fight hosted by Topping, in a desolate courtyard in Whitechapel. He also mentioned that numerous bruisers and professional boxers have been constantly challenging him to a rematch, despite knowing his reputation. Sarah contemplated her choices for a moment: it was getting late, and she still had yet to investigate the activities happening in Lambeth. However, Viola quickly came into mind. Regardless of what she had said to Cynthia earlier, she could not bring herself to take the child into an unknown location where the ground continues to break underneath their feet. Mr. Wheaton would wring her neck if he ever receives word of her current situation.

“I will have to collect my ward and take her back to the Olive Branch.” Sarah said, seeing the triumphant grin upon her sweetheart’s visage. “And then, we can go find Bobby.”  
Jacob tipped his top hat at her. “I shall go fetch us a carriage then.”

The inside of the train station was crowded as usual, especially when the night grew on. Sarah looked up at the giant clock hanging up at the open ceiling, and then heard the malefic sound of an oncoming train. Once she could see Bertha making its frequent stop, releasing a cloud of smoke as she did, the young woman quickly climbed onto the second carriage and found Viola sleeping upon the lounge, with a porcelain doll set beside her.

Henry and Evie were bent over the writing desk, shuffling various documents about, and opening books and tomes for more clues. Sarah watched the pair quietly by the doorway, noting the covert glances the two passed to each other. She quietly advanced toward them the instant they caught one another staring; their cherished moment came into an abrupt end when she picked a heavy book from the shelf and then dropped it on the floorboards, surprising the two Assassins out of their reverie. Luckily, the noise did not wake Viola.

“I apologize, it slipped from my hands.” Sarah said with an air of innocence.

Henry cleared his throat before straightening his stance. “Miss Sarah, how did you fare with the meeting?” he asked.

“It was terrible,” the blonde girl responded. “They’ve kept throwing ridiculous questions here and there, so I had to put up a metaphorical glass wall between us until the debate trickled into something more compliant.”

Evie understood what she meant. “But you did your best, in any case.”

“That is true. However, I’m surprised that your weaponries came at fourth in the lists.” Sarah recounted the expenditures written down in the ledgers, telling them what needed to be cut back, or which brand was the cheapest yet effective upon purchase. The older Frye twin weighed all of these suggestions and promised to keep an eye on their savings.

“Before I forget, Jacob asked me where you were earlier. I assume he reached the Golden Embers without a scratch?” Evie inquired and gave the younger woman a knowing gaze.

“Yes, he did.” Sarah answered. “But, after we had a clear talk about kidnapping damsels, he went on his way to Whitechapel for the latest prize-fight.”

Evie frowned and cursed Jacob’s adamancy. “I knew it!” Turning back to Sarah, she said, “then this means I will have to travel to Lambeth myself.”

“Is it because of the asylum?” Sarah asked her.

“Yes. I heard that it will shut down, but there is news of a proficient superintendent.”

Sarah nodded in understanding. “And while you are there, Evie, is it alright with you if I ask a small favor?”

“Of course, Miss Callum, what is it?”

“There are rumors that unlicensed pharmacists have been establishing their illegal affairs in Lambeth, I simply wish to know who they are, so my Helpers can stop them before they auction their unclean mixtures into the market.” Sarah explained with severity in her soft-spoken tone.

Evie nodded. “I will see to that.” She turned to leave, but she paused before looking back at Sarah. “And if you do find my brother, please give him a long talk about obeying older siblings.”

Sarah smiled and nodded. “I will see to that.” She then ambled over to the sleeping Viola. The little girl had her thumb in her mouth as she slept on peacefully.

“Who gave her the doll?” she asked Henry.

“Ah, one of the Rooks recently discovered that their daughter only adores toy swords and guns rather than dolls and tea parties. When he came into the train, Viola quickly fell in love with the toy the minute she laid her eyes on it.” Henry told her, chuckling a bit in the end.

“At least it will be in loving hands.” Sarah stated and gently cradled the girl in her arms. Viola whimpered a little: her faint brows furrowed at being lightly jostled in her sleep. She quickly held her new companion closer to her, and buried her face into its glossy black hair.

Henry offered to fetch a carriage for them, but Sarah declined, saying that she already had a Rook-owned growler to take her home. She bid her adoptive brother a goodbye before leaving the station with Viola. A few ways down the street, waiting beneath a lamp post, Jacob sat in the coach box of the transport: his back was hunched over as he fiddled with the reins of the horses. 

When he saw Sarah approach, the Assassin got down and swiftly opened the carriage door for the two girls. The blonde girl quietly thanked him for his courtesy and mounted the growler with a bit of strain. With the constant movements of the carriage, coupled with the thundering stride of the horse, Viola had finally woken up, and started to wail. Her foster mother did her best to calm the crying child; rocking her carefully, she started to hum an old lullaby about lavender fields, and of great kings wanting simple daughters to be their queen. Soon enough, Viola’s cries were pacified, and she snuggled further into her bosom.

The growler soon stopped; the door opened and Jacob peered into the carriage. “I heard crying, is she feeling unwell?” he asked.

“No, the drive woke her a little, but she’s asleep again.” Sarah said softly. 

As she stepped out of the transport, Jacob held his arms out, as if to catch her if she falls. When they came into the bakery, they were rather surprised to find Cynthia in a deep conversation with Tristan Sellars. The young maid was quick to notice the arrival of her mistress and the Rook boss, and she rapidly stepped back from the eldest Sellars brother.

“Young Miss Callum! I thought you would not return until later!” she said in a rush.

Sarah smiled, but resisted to giggle at her assistant’s situation. “There has been a change of plans, unfortunately.” To Tristan, she greeted him with a simple nod of the head. “Please prepare Viola’s necessary house clothes, and have her changed if ever she wakes up a second time tonight.”

“Yes, Young Miss.”

Jacob stayed behind to talk to his Rook while Cynthia and Sarah took the child upstairs. Once Viola had been placed in her cot, and Cymbeline was happy to have someone to watch over for the night, the blonde girl told her that she would be with Mr. Frye near the Spitalfields Markets; Robert was hosting another fight, and he had personally invited Jacob to rile more gamblers and curious spectators, something that the younger Frye twin craved for.

“Do be careful at least.” Cynthia said after brushing and fashioning her mistress’ hair into a plain braid.

“Aren’t I always, Cynthia?” Sarah said. She gave her ward a quick peck on the cheek and returned to the bakery downstairs to find Tristan and Jacob grinning over something only they knew about.

“Well, I will leave you to it then, Mr. Sellars!” Jacob said, amiably patting the older man on the arm.

“And thank you for understanding, Mr. Frye!” Tristan replied and then inclined his head toward Cynthia and Sarah. “We will be off to the fighting ring. I promise to keep your mistress safe from harm, Miss Trace.”

Cynthia resumed her solemn appearance and responded with a nod. Tristan laughed at her quick change of heart, and volunteered to drive the growler the Boss and his pretty lady. As the two important figures settled themselves in the seats, and when the carriage door had been closed, Jacob was quick to pull Sarah to him and attacked her with an onslaught of frenzied kisses along her jaw and neck.

“Jacob, please! Not here.” Sarah squirmed in place; she placed her hands upon his broad shoulders and reached up to cup his face. He merely turned his head to put kisses on each pad of her fingers.

“Jacob...” she whispered his name softly. When she finally caught his attention, it was her turn to place tentative kisses all over his visage. But then, her lips were dangerously close to the corner of his mouth, and Jacob fought the yearning that grew deep inside of him.

“I’m sorry; I was too straightforward.” Jacob said.

Sarah softly laughed. “I do not mind.” Their gazes lingered on one another for a moment. “Jacob?”

“Yes, love?”

“Perhaps tonight...I believe we are ready to take another step forward.”

It took him at least ten seconds before he finally understood what she meant. Jacob stared at her blushing cheeks and her reddened lips. The shimmer of longing was present in her forest green eyes; the ripeness to accept him as a whole was purely evident in those irises. Nevertheless, he had to be certain of the circumstance they were in: it was rare to have someone accept him for who he was, after all. Who on this earth would want Jacob Frye? A reckless, disobedient, and bullheaded Assassin?

“What makes you believe that this is the right time for...that?”

Sarah glanced down at the worn seats. “I truly do not have a concrete reason for it all. I’ve always wondered it too, whether we should allow our personal feelings to govern us even during such time of oppression.”

Jacob held her cherubim face in his hands. “Love, only you can decide what feels right and what feels wrong. Tell me, does my presence often bother you?”

“In a pleasant way, I guess.”

“And how does that make you feel?”

The young woman looked at him; hesitantly, she placed her hands on his broad shoulders. “As though I should be with you constantly, no matter where you are. But, tell me, does my presence bother you?”

Jacob stared and stared. “At first, I was bothered by the way you treated me, as if you knew how much of a trouble I am, and had to put up some sort of pretense against me. However, nowadays, I’m starting to understand why Evie would rather prefer Greenie over her own twin, or why I feel so careless when I am around you.”

He felt her hand brush against his gloved one. Sarah took deep, shallow breaths as Jacob canted his body to face her properly. His hands moved downward, halting at her waist, and drew her to him. Their noses touched at the slightest, and yet it was enough to make their hearts skip a beat.

“Jacob.” Sarah spoke quietly as the young man steadily leaned forward. “I think I love...”

The growler suddenly struck a deep pothole on the road, jarring both of the passengers. Jacob and Sarah gawked at each other’s surprised expressions before laughing out loud and without a care in the world.

“Oi, are you both all right back there?” Tristan asked.

Jacob cleared his throat before replying, “Yes, Mr. Sellars! The young lady and I are fine! Something tickled us, that’s all!”

“Right.”

Sarah let out a sigh and rested her body against the stalwart physique of Jacob. “After the fight it is then?” she said, reaching up to trace the pale scar on his eyebrow. The Assassin hummed and began to stroke the curve of her waist.

“Yes, love, after I’ve won the fight, we will kiss.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the slight delay. I contracted a lung infection because apparently I inhaled too much cement powder and other dangerous gases while traveling to and from work.
> 
> I wasn't really sure about this filler, but I wanted to show how much Sarah and Jacob has progressed from silly lovebirds to nearly there sweethearts. So, will they kiss after the fight? Or will something happen to disrupt that moment?
> 
> Tune in next time on The Dove and the Rook~!


	25. They Come and Go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tragedy is an unavoidable situation.

Sarah watched the ongoing prize-fight from a safe distance: sheltered beneath a canopy, the fair-haired young lady absently pinched her bottom lip while Robert announced every swing of the fist and well-placed hit atop a wobbly wooden chair, supporting the audience in their loud cheers and wild gestures. Another, much younger bookie went about the ring, encouraging those to place their bets and collect them with a cheeky grin and a quick nod. Inside the makeshift arena, Jacob maintained an arrogant grin, in spite of the fresh bruise and the swollen cheek.

Soon enough, after taunting the opponent, the Assassin counter-attacked with ferociously powerful strikes to the flank and jaw. The cheers and cries of the crowd grew immensely; Sarah was not sure how the local policemen were not able to perceive such commotion. To end it all, Jacob grabbed the older fellow by the back of his head and brought him down onto his oncoming knee, effectively breaking his nose and chipping his front teeth. With the competitor completely knocked out, Robert Topping happily exclaimed that the victory has gone to Jacob Frye for a second time, and persuaded many to come to the next prize fight in the following weeks.

Sarah made to stand and head over to Jacob, but Tristan insisted that she remain seated until the multitude has dispersed. She was grateful for his courtesy, but she thought it too much for her taste. By the time the eldest Sellars brother allowed her to leave her chair, she was already skipping towards the Rook leader; the younger Frye twin slouched in his low stool, elbows resting upon his knees while he waited for his body to stop trembling from the thrill.

“Jacob, are you well?” Sarah asked, leaning down to place her cold hand on his damp shoulder. He then looked up at her and tried to grin. She only shook her head before taking the wet towel from his hand. 

As she wiped away the dirt from his face, Robert congratulated him on his second win. “And just as promised, your winnings and a fancy new cane sword for your collection!”

Jacob scoffed in slight jest. “I’m not one to use a thing in combat, perhaps my sister will enjoy that more than I will.”

Sarah hummed, eyeing the crafty accessory. “It does look more suitable for covert tasks. It does, however, complete your outdoorsman ensemble.”

“Do you really think so?” Jacob asked, shutting his right eye for Sarah to scrub off the caked blood from his brow.

“I very much think so,” she smiled and pressed a loving kiss on his reddening cheek. “And regardless of your wide physique, I still believe that a fine attire makes a fine man.”

“What would I ever do without you, love?”

Tristan chose that moment to interject. “Probably drink and fight ‘til Big Ben falls down.”

“If I could live that long enough, Mr. Sellars.” Jacob quipped back and winced a little as Sarah patted the grime off his injured cheek.

Ere long, the people had abandoned the courtyard, leaving the Rooks to celebrate their wins and their glorious boss. Jacob, now dressed with his linen shirt and emerald green waistcoat, raised his own pint of delicious beer before gulping down half of its contents. With Sarah at his side, he was happy. He and the lads casually talked about their brawls, their domestic issues, and other certain subjects that were strange but not uncommon.

“I swear! He saw a light travellin’ from the local graveyard and it shot right into the tomb of a Mr. Reed!” said one of the older Rook members.

“C’mon Tom, you really believe the gravedigger? He’s almost sixty-two!” Tristan replied.

“Aye, what with that sort of job.”

The conversation went on to that of the legendary Spring-Heeled Jack and other stories. Jacob felt something moving across his stomach to rest on his left hip, and he glanced down to see Sarah staring at him with a familiar glint in her eye. His own eyes widened for a second before he grabbed his drink and finished it in one gulp. He stood, taking the fair-haired lady with him, and fashioned an excuse for his lads: they all chuckled and some even suggested the back alley near The Reed because it was dark, isolated even. The young Boss raised a brow at them, and then turned away, guiding Sarah towards the said location.

His stride may be confident, but the hint of apprehension was clearly visible in his eyes. What would come next was a turning point in their relationship, and Jacob was eager to get it done with no disturbances whatsoever. There, in that lone area, the moonlight seemed to glow brighter, giving him enough illumination to see the peaceful smile on Sarah’s character. Carefully, he positioned her against the brick wall and stared down at her smaller form. How could he be lucky enough to find such a jewel hiding in the slums of Whitechapel? And why would she choose him in order to be her first in everything? The thoughts made his throat go dry, and he did his best to hide his nervous gulp. She might have sensed his oncoming distress, for Sarah gently seized his hands and placed them just above her hips. Jacob hesitantly brought her closer to him, licking his lips in slight anticipation.

“Jacob,” Sarah whispered softly; her hands steadily making their way to perch on his broad shoulders. “Whatever happens after this night, I will be with you for as long as you shall have me.”

He finally relaxed his stance and smiled. “And as long as you shall have me, expect a lot of stolen kisses and very, very warm evenings.” Her laughter rose into the cool air, and then she waited.

Jacob wrapped an arm around her waist while the other came up to cradle the back of her head in his hand. Sarah looked at his mouth through a half-lidded gaze; she could feel her very heart beating in her ears. Her cheeks were flushed, and it seemed as if her senses were attuning themselves for this one precious moment. Jacob tipped his head to avoid colliding their noses, and gradually leaned down. He was so close now, close enough to recognize the flowery perfume she always wore; close enough to hear her soft breathing. Just as their lips nearly touched, a booming shout interrupted them from their reverie: Tim suddenly came thundering through the alley, looking ready to cut Jacob into tiny ribbons with the large knife he held in his equally large fist.

“There ya two are!” he said, pointing the sharp end toward the couple.

“Tim, surely we can sit down and talk about this like proper gentlemen?” Jacob said, maneuvering Sarah to stand behind him.

“There ain’t no time fer tha’!” Tim yelled. “Ya both are needed at Babylon Alley!”

“Babylon Alley?” Sarah parroted. She and Jacob looked at each other in concern before following the giant man. The other Rooks must have been informed as they were now gathered around the growler; as usual, Tristan was at the coach box.

An urchin, a little boy with mousy brown hair, was impatiently waiting for the important figure of the gang. Jacob knew him as that child he had rescued from the dye house; Benjamin Lyre was his name, and his nimble fingers were still stained in green and blue. When he saw the Boss, the boy nearly stumbled over his steps.

“M-Mr. Frye! You’ve got to help us!” he exclaimed, frantically.

“Calm yourself, lad.” Jacob told him, and placed a comforting gloved hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Tell me everything on the way there.” He ushered him, and then Sarah, into the carriage, and then urged Tristan to depart quickly. The minute they sat down on the seats, Benjamin quickly relayed the happenings within their headquarters.

“It was dreadful! Five of the younger children had suddenly caught something terrible, and we do not know what to do! Clara had gone to Lambeth because there were rumors of a new doctor at the asylum, but we haven’t heard from her since!” he explained.

At the mention of Lambeth, Sarah quickly added, “Evie is also in Lambeth on a mission regarding the asylum as well.” To Benjamin, she smiled and said “Do not worry, Clara will find the cure for this.”

“But what exactly happened, Ben?” Jacob said, his brows furrowing in worry.

“Well, ever since the Soothing Syrup production has stopped, we’ve been trying other methods to help soothe the little ones with their toothaches and bellyaches. There was this apothecary, Mr. Barty I think, he was nice to us, and he gave us tonics for such ailments. The children took them without asking about the ingredients, and now...”

Jacob clenched and unclenched his fists. “We’ll be sure to find this man, and the Rooks will surely teach him a lesson.”

Despite the tears forming in his eyes, the Little Rook sniffed and puffed out his chest in pure bravery. “You do not have to look far: when I told Big Tim about it, he had every pharmacist in Whitechapel hound after Mr. Barty. They had him tied up like a pig.”

“Oh, I should remember to thank Tim later on.” Sarah said quietly; the anxiety was still present either way, and when the growler did stop at their destination, they dismounted the transport with haste.

Babylon Alley was a place that did not receive many visitors, but on that fateful evening, an assembly of concerned Rooks had gathered at the entrance. Tim stated that he had already dispatched a messenger to fetch Mr. Wheaton, and should be here any moment. Jacob peered at the fearful young woman beside him before inquiring about Mr. Barty, and they gladly showed their Boss where they kept the illegal merchant: in the small confines of an old broom closet. The fellow was a scrawny thing, with a thin moustache and wide, terrified brown eyes. There was a tear in his cotton waistcoat, although it was more likely eaten by a moth or a roach. Jacob came down to get a better look at his state, and the gentleman abruptly moved away, consequently slamming his head against the wall behind him. Tied and gagged, Mr. Barty could only squirm in place.

Tilting his head in mock pity, the juvenile Boss took out his prized kukri, and sure that the pale moonlight would shine on its sharpened blade. Mr. Barty perspired harder than ever. “I do not think there is a need for introductions, sir.” Jacob spat out in a seething tone. “Unless you’ve been living underground for the past few days, I’m sure you are aware of your situation by now.”

The apothecary was now screaming through the dirty cloth stuck between his lips and practically shook his tied wrists at him, as though he were pleading to a higher official. Sarah, on the other hand, had sauntered into the building, along with Benjamin, and saw the other urchins lingering in the hallways. A few of them swiftly ran over to greet her: they tugged at her skirts, telling her about their dire circumstance. She pacified each child with encouraging words, and told them to remain vigilant for their friends.

They took her to where the sick children were placed: it was in a small room with several wooden cots pushed against the walls. Each orphan was rambling about their sorrows as they clutched at their stomachs, while others begged for more water. A dark-haired boy was constantly scratching at his rashes until they bled, whereas a brown-haired girl was murmuring about a white rabbit. Sarah steeled her bearing and investigated the symptoms each child possessed: so far, there were complaints of headaches, dry mouths and throats, and there was also a case of delirium.

“You mentioned there was five of them, where is the fifth?” Sarah inquired.

“Oh,” Benjamin said softly, his childish appearance turning forlorn. He then guided her to the adjacent bedroom. Here, there were only three cribs, reserved for those mistreated infants they rescue from workhouses. A lone crib in the far end of the room was draped in mosquito nets, and Sarah felt her heart skip a beat at the sight of it.

“That is little Andrew. Clara told us his teeth were starting to come out, so we really required a soothing syrup to ease his discomfort.” They approached the single infant and observed through the sheer curtains. Sarah carefully pushed the draperies aside to glance down at the sleeping baby.

“How old is he?” she asked.

“We’re not sure. Clara believes he’s five months old or so. She rescued him from a work factory not so long ago, so we just assumed that he was abandoned there by his mother.”  
With all the care she could afford, Sarah picked up the bundled child and cradled him into her arms: she tugged on the blanket a bit to see small red patches on his neck and chin; his breathing was shallow and hoarse, but then he opened his mouth to yawn, showing a very pale pink tongue. The young woman quickly placed a hand to her own mouth and bit down on her bottom lip to hinder a sob.

“Will he be fine, Miss?” Benjamin suddenly inquired her.

“I...” she looked to the infant and then to the young boy staring at her with hopeful eyes. “We’re never sure of it, lad. Circumstances such as these are always unpredictable; sometimes they are so sudden, you wouldn’t know what to do afterward.” Sarah absently held the babe’s hand in her fingers, and observed how miniature it was compared to her own adolescent one.

“I understand,” Benjamin replied after hearing her statement. “My Mum, she left me in one of the chapels here in East End, said that she’ll go buy me some sweets if I behaved for the pastor there. She didn’t come back, and I never saw her again.”

Sarah nodded. “I lost my own Mother to consumption. I was seven at the time, so I hardly knew what was going on. The next day, her bed was empty, and my Father was drinking his sorrows away in our pub downstairs. And somehow I just understood...”

There was a ruckus outside, followed by a few punches being thrown. The blonde girl paid it no mind and started to sway about, vaguely giving Little Andrew the maternal love he deserved from the very beginning. She thought of Viola and the way she’d seem to smile at her before bedtime. Why would a parent be willing enough to abandon blessings such as these children? What had they done in order to be forsaken in the first place? They had much to learn about this world and its mechanisms, and yet their first teachers, their own families, had simply decided to leave them in a place where they could be harmed by almost anything.

“Sarah.”

The said girl turned around to see Jacob standing at the doorway. His gaze shifted to the infant, but before he could ask, she already shook her head at him. She watched the man she loved hiss through his teeth in silent anger.

“What of Mr. Barty?” she said, her voice slightly cracking at the edges.

“We let him go, for now. Should he even try to make another soothing syrup, he’ll receive a blunt kukri into his face.” Jacob told her. “However, there is the matter of a supplier that goes by the name of James Basil. I’m going out to find him; Tim and Tristan will stay here with you.”

Sarah could merely nod. “Please, come back swiftly.” She tried to smile, but it seemed as if her lips suddenly turned into lead, and couldn’t bring herself to lift them any further.

“I will, love.”

Jacob Frye lingered there at the door for a second longer, and then went on his way in search of his new target. Had he stayed for a while more, he would have heard her mourn for the dying baby in her arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm never one for death, as said in my other fanfic What Was Lost. But before you all complain, I need you to understand that this is the Victorian Era, children can die prematurely, whether they are street urchins or high-class heirs or heiresses.
> 
> I thought of this situation especially when I reviewed the Lady with a Lamp Mission. I know for sure that the orphans are saved, but sometimes you cannot save everyone.
> 
> Sarah Callum is very aware of that fact, but there is still something tragic about seeing a life being snuffed out before it could even begin. And please excuse Jacob for walking out on her, it doesn't have to do with the fact that there's someone to chase after, but I feel as though he doesn't know how to act around someone who is mourning.
> 
> Expect a time skip in the next chapter, and hopefully the cheerful Sarah comes back in time to stop Jacob from making a contract with Pearl Attaway!


	26. Impasse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob seeks out Sarah to ask for forgiveness, but stumbles upon something else in its stead

There was something unexplainable inside Jacob’s mouth. At first he believed that a rat, carrying a variety of lethal diseases, had been placed there by a malicious sprite that wished him dead for good. Now, that was a very interesting headline for the newspapers: Infamous Rook Gang Leader, Found Dead due to Rodent Consumption. He tried to laugh at his own witticism, but only a growl escaped his throat. Did he turn into a dog now? Jacob rolled off of whatever he had been lounging on, and then fell to the trembling floor. Oh, he was in the train hideout. And that unexplainable matter in his mouth: it was merely his tongue.

“Good morning, Mr. Frye.” The said young man lifted his head off the floor to see a pair of shiny black shoes strolling past his sight. He was then hefted up, and situated into a proper sitting position on the chaise.

“God, I feel so awful.” Jacob groaned and tried to press the heel of his hand onto his eye, but a strong grip stopped him from doing so.

“Now, now, I’ve just picked you up from the floor, you might rub the dust into your eyes and you’ll never be able to see accordingly again.” The still nameless gentleman told him. The idea of being a blind Assassin did not seem fun at all, so he restrained himself despite the irritable itch.

“Here,” something damp slapped him across the face, and his quick reflexes managed to capture the offending object: it was a cold hand towel that smelled of soap and alcohol. “Wipe the grogginess off your visage, and when you are finished, drink a full glass of water and have a hearty breakfast. And absolutely no toilful activities for an hour.”

“Yes, sir.”

When he was eventually able to have a proper view of his setting, Jacob saw the figure of Mr. Wheaton sauntering away from him: he carried a glass water pitcher in one hand, while the other held several papers and portfolios for his continuous research in drugs and pharmaceuticals. He heaved out a heavy sigh and reached for the awaiting glass of water, gulping it down quickly before fastening the leather belts around his waist. Passing over his favored green waistcoat and red cravat, Jacob rolled up the sleeves of his shirt and followed the smell of coffee to the subsequent carriage.

The Cook greeted him ever so warmly and was already putting out a plate for his Boss. Jacob thanked the man for the fry up; he snatched his meal and settled down in an empty corner booth. As he began to devour his food, the locomotive screeched into a usual stop, and waited for its specific passengers. A few Rooks came inside, waving to their leader with a morning haze in their eyes. A Little Rook, however, jumped in on the last minute, making it just in time as the train started to move again.

“G’morning, Mr. Frye!” said Benjamin. The young boy had donned a child-sized, cheaper version of Jacob’s own waistcoat and cravat, and was puffing out his chest like a little soldier.

“Hello there, Ben, I see you’ve sold your share of newspapers today.” Jacob remarked, smirking at the boy’s proud grin. When the boy made no move to leave the Boss in peace, the Rook leader fished out a few coins from his pocket and slapped them onto the table. “Go treat yourself to some breakfast, eh?”

“Thank you, Mr. Frye!” the boy said and ran over to claim his meal from the Cook.

“You shouldn’t throw away your money like that.” Jacob lazily turned his head to look at his twin sister, who had settled for a simple cup of steaming hot tea and buttered toast. “Besides, Benjamin has enough earnings to keep himself well-fed for a whole day.”

“Well, fortunately for him he doesn’t have to waste a shilling for breakfast today.”

Evie shook her head in disapproval. “You do not get it, do you? The urchins will not learn how to deal with money if you continue to spoil them this way.”

Sensing an impending headache, Jacob quietly spat out, “I am just trying to make amends, but you certainly have a method of turning my good deeds into crime.”

“Perhaps if you could change your own methods first, and then I will stop pointing out the noxious flaws in them.” Evie declared, holding down her impassive stance in spite of Jacob’s murderous glare.

“Excuse me, sister,” Jacob hissed through his teeth. “I seem to have lost my appetite.”

He didn’t have time to argue with Evie, not in front of his Rooks, or little Benjamin Lyre. Jumping onto the next train carriage, he found Mr. Wheaton bending over the worktable, examining the plant samples Henry had been courteous enough to provide for the doctor. Ever since that evening, when Jacob met the man after ruining James Basil’s supply run, he could tell they would not get along pretty easily. However, after overhearing that it was Mr. Wheaton’s medicine that helped cure a dying Sarah of her cholera, the Rook Boss decided to invite the gentleman doctor into the train hideout, in order to formulate their own drugs and needed chemicals.

Jacob also noted that Mr. Wheaton became a stumbling mess of awe when Evie said that it was Florence Nightingale who created the concoction for those who were victims of the counterfeit tonics. The gentleman doctor then urged the older Frye twin to escort him to Lambeth Asylum so he could meet with the aforementioned nurse appropriately.

“I’ve did what you ordered, Mr. Wheaton, what sort of toilful activities should I avoid this morning?” Jacob inquired, his playful tone returning.

Mr. Wheaton huffed as he carefully labeled each toxic plant with their respective names. “Your entire morning routine, Mr. Frye. Might I suggest a bit of reading? A growing boy like you should keep yourself well-informed.”

“If only books contain instructions on how to knockout a brute,” he said under his breath. The gentleman, nevertheless, overheard him.

“Yes, in fact, there are such existing manuals, Mr. Frye.” Mr. Wheaton smirked proudly.

“I understand: you’re clever, I’m not. All the bets have gone to witty Mr. Wheaton!” Jacob exclaimed sarcastically. Mr. Wheaton straightened his back upon hearing the insult; his expression quickly softened, however, and he was soon back to labeling his works.

“Why don’t you go about your day, hm? You clearly have no interest in botany or any medicinal science.” He paused, and then added, “I hear The Olive Branch has the most finest apple tartlets in all of Whitechapel, despite the disgusting odor of the vagabonds.”

At that, Jacob stilled for a second. “I...I do not think she will want to see me, not after what Evie and Clara had said.” And their words had stung like angry wasps on a hot summer day. Even though the pair had chosen to overlook his dangerous mistake, as the orphans had been cured, and Little Andrew buried properly in a small cemetery, it had still affected in a way that made him feel intense guilt; for those children, for Sarah.

Mr. Wheaton simply hummed in response. “Well, you must know, anger and disgust are a commonplace reaction to one’s fault, Mr. Frye. And while guilt can be the direct emotion, that does not mean there is no room for forgiveness.”

The Rook Boss scoffed a little. “Are you certain that you’re an apothecary?”

“Young man, I will let you know that I have seen too many dying patients in my lifetime, and I have seen the look of sorrow which follows their loved ones: that night was just general as any of my missions. Miss Frye and Miss O’Dea had the right to be infuriated, for they were troubled. As for Miss Callum...she had every right to mourn for that child.”  
The train continued to rattle along the railways; the Rooks in the parlour carriage went on to sing murder ballads about a grave digger. Jacob stared down at his foot for a long while, remembering the ill-tempered words his twin sister had tossed at him, but soon thereafter, everything returned back to the way it was: Clara, all ruddy from managing their tasks, still greeted him with the same zeal as she always had whenever he asked for her urchins. His gang welcomed him in burst of cheers and praise each time their beloved leader walked into an affiliated pub or alehouse.

“Do you think...” Jacob trailed off momentarily before clenching his fists.

“It has been _weeks_ , Mr. Frye. I think that is quite enough time for you to wallow in the vile muck known as your self-pity. Now, I need you to jump off the rushing locomotive and leave me be in my research.” Mr. Wheaton ordered him and turned away to open a reasonably large volume on poisons and hallucinogens.

Understanding that he has spent much of Mr. Wheaton’s time, Jacob returned to the main carriage and decided to put on a striped blue tweed waistcoat and disregarded a cravat. The younger Frye twin ignored his sister’s raised eyebrow as he began to brush his hair back and doused himself with a bit of perfume, knowing well that it would be overcome by the natural scents of London.

“And where are you going?” Evie questioned him. Jacob had donned an outdoor coat and his top hat by the time she asked.

“According to dear Mr. Wheaton, my constitution is not up to par for straining activities, and so I thought that maybe I should take a leisurely stroll around London,” he said.

Evie rolled her eyes and waved him off like an annoying fly. “Then go, better not vex the gentleman doctor any more by starting brawls on the streets.”

“And go I shall!” He snatched one of their several cane swords from the adjacent cabinet and tested the dexterity of it. Afterwards, he strolled back to the Rook parlour carriage, and remained there until the hideout paused in Whitechapel Train Station. Jacob bid his Rooks a temporary farewell as he dismounted the train: as usual, during a Wednesday mid-morning, there were a very few people who are left to wander the vast structure.

After taking an immediate growler down to Rosemary Lane, he appropriated his attire and marched right up to The Olive Branch. Standing behind the hectic counter was a stern Cynthia, who looked almost prepared to toss her cap into the burning ovens behind her. She took rapid glance at Jacob and then shook her head at him. Young Miss Callum is not here at the moment. The young man was confused: he tried to approach her, seeking more information, but one of the elderly staff, an old lady with a brown wart on her nose, grabbed hold of his arm and told him—

“She flew over to Westminster with the Indian savant,” she hoarsely whispered, passing on the strange scent that old folks similarly carry. Jacob willed himself not to lean back further away from her, since she was his only reliable source at the moment.

“Did she ever tell you why?” he inquired.

The old woman snorted. “Business, perhaps. Or the young lady is seeking other pleasures. She does seem quite happy now since that fellow kept on visiting her after what happened to that poor babe.”

Jacob inwardly gritted his teeth before parting with a nod and thank you. He made his way through the bustling crowd like an executioner walking on the path to the gallows. The Indian savant? Surely it wasn’t Greenie; he had been on the train since last night, assisting his sister in her plans, and he would have announced his intentions before vanishing for several hours during the day. Was Sarah keeping another man for herself? The Assassin shook the idea off his head: he needed to know; he needed to find out.

“You’re in a bit of a hurry.” He glanced down to his right side and saw Clara trying to keep up with his pace.

“I cannot spare my time, Clara, I need—”

“—need to find Miss Callum, I am aware of that,” the twelve-year-old told him sternly. “Mandeep took her to Hyde Park for a little promenade, perhaps if you hurry enough, you’ll be able to catch up to them.”

He wanted to articulate his gratitude for her needed information, but Clara had dashed off, joining the other urchins in another made-up game of chase. Stopping in the middle of a boulevard, Jacob smiled to himself—

“Well, it seems that I will take that leisurely stroll after all.” He spun with his cane sword in wide circles before marching up to a somewhat respectable looking growler. Tapping the driver’s knee with his elaborately decorated cane, he used a posh accent to order the man around, saying that he had had enough of the dank air of Whitechapel.

“You and me both, sir.” The driver muttered just before Jacob mounted the carriage.

* * *

 

The Borough of Westminster was not yet a territory of the Rooks, therefore, he had to be cautious with his surroundings. Why would that scholar bring Sarah to this affluent place? While she harbored no dislike toward the upper-class, their carefree approach towards living would always disappoint her to no end. Jacob halted his transport near the park, and gave the old driver a generous pay for all his troubles. Here, the streets were regularly cleaned by well-funded sweepers, and the occupants were free to display their wealth through their mannerisms and fad.

Jacob took a deep breath before entering the glorious parkland. As he walked by several young ladies enjoying their own promenade, he instinctively tipped his top hat in greeting: most of them hurriedly covered their blushing faces with their fans, while others looked away and giggled. He felt his chest swell with vanity and pride. But he soon recalled of his personal mission, and thus he continued on, activating his special sight. To his luck, the stilled silhouettes of Sarah and her mysterious escort appeared not too far from where he was situated. It seemed that she had an arm wrapped around the man’s, and the way that their heads tilted toward each other made him growl in budding jealousy.

He followed the glowing outlines throughout the grounds until he stumbled upon the actual figures sitting upon a lone bench that was shaded by an alder tree. Jacob abruptly stopped the minute he heard that familiar sob: Sarah was hunched over crying, golden hair covering her face from his view, whereas the scholar, Mandeep, rubbed her back as gently as he could.

“I do not know if I can do it, Mandeep.” Sarah whimpered, voice muffled by the hands that hindered her cries.

“Sarah, my dove, it is the only natural thing to do.” Mandeep said in a hushed whisper. “There is always a reason why we are faced with the most difficult of situations.”

“But, what if I can’t?”

“You will, and I shall make sure that you will not linger in your suffering any longer.”

The sobbing gradually stopped, and Sarah straightened her posture to look at her male companion more properly. She sniffed and pushed out a forlorn sigh, tucking locks of her hair behind her ears to make herself comely once more. Looking at Mandeep, the young woman allowed a small smile to grace her features; she reached over to cup the nape of the Indian, and then leaned forward, as if to give him a kiss. Then, without prior warning, someone came rushing up toward them, and all Sarah could do was to watch in shock as Jacob began to strike her former partner into the ground.

“Jacob, stop this!” Sarah shouted at him. “Enough, Jacob! Stop it, please!” She waited for the right moment to jump into the scuffle: as the Rook gang leader pulled back his fist, she rushed forward and did her best to shove Jacob off Mandeep. The gang leader was utterly confused; his rage vanished upon seeing who had jostled him out of his reverie.

Sarah took one long look at him before turning to the fallen man. She brushed his long black hair away from his face, revealing the blooming bruises and the fresh cut on his lips.

“Oh, Mandeep! We have to get you to Mr. Wheaton!” she said, frantically.

“I am fine, Sarah. A little beaten, but it is not agonizing, yet.” Mandeep told her calmly.

“Sarah, I—”

“No!” The said girl abruptly stood and fixed him with a saddened yet furious glare. “Jacob, just leave me be for now, and we will meet up at The Olive Branch, understand?” When he gave no immediate response, she steeled her voice, “Understand?”

Jacob pursed his lips, giving Mandeep one last murderous glance. “I understand.” He then turned away, shoving numerous people out of his path, and then stole a cab for his grim journey back to Whitechapel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, some confrontation! To those who have Tumblr, you might have noticed that there are two yellow flowers on each side of the fanfic header: the yellow rose on Mandeep's side symbolizes Friendship, whereas the yellow carnation symbolizes disappointment.
> 
> Also, I just realized that I have no FaceClaim for Mandeep yet, so I chose the ever stunningly handsome Ranveer Singh~
> 
> I thought that the story would become more symbolic, with foreboding messages toward Jacob and Sarah's fate in the end. So I hope you will all appreciate the nice touch, and for the next chapter there will be another time skip!


	27. To Part Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarah and Jacob argue for the first time, and someone decides to leave.

Uneasiness was the silent friend of Jacob Frye since childhood. 

It was not always talked about, but it was always there, waiting ever so patiently to attack him for all the times he kept it stored away from the others. Ethan Frye was the only one who could provoke the sentiment by a mere glance, or a disapproving shake of the head. To think that a fair-haired young lady can stir his agitation once more: the Rooks would laugh at him, for being unable to hold himself against such a soft, innocent little creature. But he admired Sarah Callum for her passiveness toward his actions, as well as the sense of solace she exuded with a gentle smile and a kind gesture.

Cynthia had given him a cup of tea and a plateful of tartlets. The drink was justly warm, and the pastries were a bit overcooked for his taste. The maid gave him that specific look, one that harbored a bit of contempt, if her pinched expression was any further evidence. Jacob swallowed the crust of the tartlet, and it felt like a stone passing through his throat. He was thankful for the saving presence of Viola and Cymbeline, who both ignored the budding tension in the sitting room. The girl had been urging him out of his chair so she may entertain him further by her fairy tea set. He refused, gentle enough not to anger her, and received an adorable pout from the six-year-old.

Before long, the occupants of the room overheard a loud slam from the bakery below. Cymbeline, sensing his mistress, went over to welcome her and question the emotions she was feeling at the instant. The door opened and closed in a rush; Cynthia, dutiful as ever, tended to her employer with utmost capabilities. The Assassin could hear a hushed voice, followed by a shaky sigh. In the enclosed setting, Jacob had the chance to observe Sarah’s attire of the day: she was garbed in a pale blue gown, with long fitted, buttoned sleeves, and a motif of pink rose buds along the hemline of her skirt. Her soft cheeks were ruddy from the previous episode, and her flower-like mouth was set into a slight frown.

“Cynthia, can you kindly take Viola to the nursery, please? This might take a while.” Sarah told her maid, who gladly agreed.

“Did I do something wrong, Miss Callum?” Viola inquired, looking at her tea set then back to her foster mother.

The young woman gave her best smile and softly brushed a curl away from the girl’s face. “No, Viola, you didn’t. I simply wish to talk to Mr. Frye over certain matters.” Finally, Viola gave in, and exited the room, with Cymbeline and Cynthia following after her.

The clock upon the mantlepiece ticked away the seconds: Jacob was starting to believe that the chair was gradually consuming him alive. Sarah picked up the tray of tartlets and set them aside, before taking the vacant chair across from him. They sat there in silence: he stared on, waiting for her to say something, while she was content in gazing at the carpet beneath their feet.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, she spoke, “I understand now: why you were so livid when you attacked Mandeep. You assumed we were going to kiss, were you?”

“No, Sarah—”

“Then what other reason do you have? I know when a man had his pride struck, I’ve seen it countless times here in Whitechapel.” Sarah told him. Then, she schooled her features to an unreadable expression. Jacob hated that he was incapable of understanding her now, on what she was thinking and planning.

He clenched his fists and forced his eyes onto the floor instead, trying to avoid her gaze and to even out the conflict. “I came here because I needed to see you,” he said quietly. “What happened with the orphans...I cannot say it was entirely my fault because I didn’t know about the plans or the fact that Elliotson kept them in his office.”

Sarah, almost statue-like, replied, “I understand that. And I also understand how Evie and Clara felt that night, but the orphans were eventually cured, and are now safe from harm.”

“And I had to leave you because you were mourning for Little Andrew.”

Again, silence invaded the room.

“I sought for you during the funeral. However, the Rooks told me you were quite busy.” Jacob lifted his head at last, and saw the glassy haze in Sarah’s green eyes. “I was rather confused as to why you were avoiding me these past weeks. I thought you were mourning as well, in your own method, so I decided to consult Mandeep thereafter.”

“Sarah, I swear on my life, I didn’t know!” She halted him with a raise of her pale hand.

“When I was about thirteen, I remember how nervous I had been when the Hermes Circle was formed. It was meant to protect good businesses from the overlapping evils of greed and corruption. Mandeep was, and continues to be, a proficient leader, despite his flaws and fear of a greater enemy. By the time I was sixteen, I decided to move on to much bigger things, especially after Henry showed me the real London. I was young and naïve; I thought I had everything planned, kept every one of my helpers protected from danger, but when I held Little Andrew in my arms, I knew that I was not ready to lead yet.”

Her lips parted and began to tremble. “I wanted to tell you how scared I was that night, but you weren’t there. That is why I had to seek Mandeep in your stead.”

“Well,” Jacob couldn’t conjure any dependable words, for he truly had nothing to say. “You should have told me that it was that important!” he said accusingly.

At his tone, the mask of indifference finally melted away from Sarah’s visage. “How dare you blame me, sir! I had blindly searched for your attendance, and this is what you have to say to me in return?”

“You could have asked for Greenie! Why choose someone outside our cause anyway?” Jacob had started to rise from his seat and began pacing around the room.

“Mandeep was my partner before Henry! With or without reason, I trust his advices more than anyone else!” Sarah stood up, but opted to remain in place.

“Run back to him then! I’m sure he offers a more pleasing company than mine ever will!”

As if blown by a vicious wind, Sarah fell back into her seat, shivering hands quickly clutching the silver timepiece around her neck. Jacob realized it too late, and when he went to reach for her, she avoided his gesture. He straightened his posture, fists clenching so tightly the leather of his kid gloves creaked in protest. The Assassin quickly grabbed his belongings and strolled out of the room in quick but heavy strides. Sarah soon hurried over to the windows, opening them rapidly as though it was her only escape. She watched Jacob’s intimidating figure depart from Rosemary Lane, and vanished once he made a turn in the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *rises from the grave with starbucks in hand*
> 
> I am so sorry for the long overdue update. My wi-fi was cut off, plus the bill hasn't arrived for at least two months. Likewise, I am still job hunting, although its proven difficult because of my knee injury (which still hasn't healed)
> 
> Anyway, I hope Jacob is not so OOC in this one. In my head, he acts like a literal manchild, so I could only think of that.  
> To him, it's like "What are feelings? They're icky! Better blame Sarah for making me feel this way!"
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy this new chapter! And I promise to update Down at the Burlesque Lounge as well! :D


	28. Unfaltering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jacob and Sarah take their time away from each other. But they soon realize how much they miss the other.

It had been over three weeks since Sarah had a proper meeting with the older Frye twin. She had worn a plain sapphire blue gown, with tiny pearls sewn in crisscross patterns across the bodice. Her fitting sleeves were an unusual scarlet, embroidered with blue roses that matched the body of her dress. Her golden hair, as always, was loose about her shoulders that Evie had to tell her she looked like an Italian princess in her regal attire, and the young girl gladly accepted the compliment.

“How may I and my Helpers be of service to you today, Miss Frye?” Sarah inquired after she had settled her guest in her private study.

“I hope it may not be too difficult of a task, but I’m wondering if you’re able to trace certain purchases and sales.” Evie said with truthful worry.

“Of course, such a thing is trivial, lest you have a challenge for me.” The blonde replied with an indifferent look.

The female Assassin had to smile at her spirit. “My Templar target, a Miss Lucy Thorne, had bought recently bought an Assassin and Templar affiliated residence, in order to seek out its secrets.” Sarah nodded so gently, Evie could have missed it. “While my mission for that location has been successful, I fear that Miss Thorne has done away with the home’s important relics; items that once belonged to the Assassin, Edward Kenway.”

“And you wish for me to retrieve some of them?”

“I have a list of what should be taken back.” Evie handed her a small folded paper and the girl took it without conditions. Sarah read the article carefully before putting it away in a pocket hiding in her skirt.

“It shall be done. Expect the cargo in Whitechapel Station by five in the noon.”

“Thank you,” Evie nodded. Then, with little hesitance, she added, “And Miss Callum?” The said girl glanced up from her desk and waited for her to speak.

“I am sorry for Jacob’s behavior toward you, Henry and I pray that it will not strain our connections.”

For a moment, Sarah did not reply to her apology. She turned away from the Assassin and reached for her timepiece. “Worry not, Miss Frye, I will always continue to work for Henry and for the Assassins. However, you are not your brother, therefore you have no need to apologize on his behalf.” Evie fought back a sigh, and silently exited the study.

As soon as she was certain that Miss Frye was gone, Sarah rang her silver bell, and her assistant punctually appeared at her doorway. “Send a message to Mr. Wynert, we have a bit of business to discuss down at the Flower Court.”

“Didn’t you hear the news, Young Miss?” At Sarah’s questioning glance, she continued, “Mr. Wynert was caught by the police yesterday afternoon.”

Her young mistress hummed lightly. “And at around six in the evening of that same day, Tim saw Mr. Wynert having a drink at the Gilded Cage.”

“He escaped the policemen?” Cynthia had to gasp.

Sarah nodded once. “Because someone had rescued him.”

She did not dare leave any hints as to who had been Ned Wynert’s mysterious saviour: everyone in the bakery knew that it was best to leave the problem alone for the meantime, and so they did not mention him or anything connected to his name within her proximity. Cynthia simply curtsied and left the lady to her struggling thoughts.

* * *

Just a few kilometers away from Rosemary Lane, Jacob eyed the clock hung upon the opposite wall. Agnes had installed it in the other week, and he only came to notice it now. He was waiting for the right hour to leave the hideout; Pearl had strictly instructed him to hand over the engine no later than five in the afternoon today. After which, they would become business partners for life.

Before his mind could wander further, he saw a familiar silhouette in his peripheral, and he tore his gaze away from the clock to look at his sister. Ever since they had arrived in London, and ever since their father had passed, Evie had donned a near permanent scowl. Jacob quickly recalled any previous situation that might deserve a scolding from his twin, but then he realized everything he had done thus far would deserve a scolding either way. So he put on a demeanor of laziness and pretended that there were no Blighters to fight, or strongholds to conquer.

“Apologize.” Evie stated in a firm, sinister tone.

Jacob raised a brow at that. “I’m sorry?” His sister never looked that menacing before.

“Apologize to Miss Callum at this instant, or else.”

The younger Frye twin then decided to challenge her. “Or else what, dear sister?”

“Or else I will stuff you in a snuff box and have you delivered to the Olive Branch Bakery. Sarah wouldn’t mind, and neither would I.” Evie watched her brother scoff at her threat, and she could see him gritting his teeth in quiet anger.

“And why should I do that?” Evie clenched her fists and fought back the need to break her brother’s teeth in.

“Because you are an idiot, that’s what! When she came looking for you, you ran off like a dog with its tail between its legs! She was confused by your actions. Then you reappeared all of a sudden and accused her of a crime!” Evie exclaimed, pointing a finger at him, which she had not done for quite a long time.

“And until you admit your faults, I suggest you remove that look upon your arrogant face, or I will carve it off myself.” She then turned, intentionally letting her cape smack against Jacob’s cheek as a warning of what has yet to come.

The quietude from before returned, mocking him in a way that made his shoulders sag. Jacob rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed so profoundly, he wondered how on earth did he get himself into such situation. He chuckled, remembering Evie’s stinging words. He wanted to see her again. He wanted to see her smiling face so badly that it hurt him. But he feared she may have accepted the inevitable, and has moved on to better prospects. London, after all, is never short on handsome and rich businessmen, or Indian scholars. Jacob nasally huffed. He needed a drink, something heavy enough to cloud his senses for the next few days or so. If only such a tonic had been invented.

There was still several more hours before his meeting with Pearl Attaway; Jacob decided to burn away his spite in the ring, in hopes that he could forget Sarah Callum as well.

* * *

“A ship’s steering wheel,” Sarah articulated. She and Ned had scoured the City of London in search of Edward Kenway’s belongings, and found their third item still coveted in a warehouse along the Thames.

“That’s quite a novelty,” Ned replied, eyeing the antique with understandable interest. “Your father was a sailor, right? I bet he would have loved this in his study.”

“He would have. I do not know much about his voyages, but Tim told me he was serious about his trade more than his own captain.” She soon glanced over her shoulder to see how her Helpers were doing with the keepers. “Let’s be done with this, we still have two more relics to retrieve.”

“Such as?” Ned peered over her shoulder to look down at the list as well.

“A portfolio of pirate treasure maps. And some sort of jewelry box.” Sarah uttered, patting Ned on the cheek so he could call on his own men to take the heavy wheel.

“Do you think there are still some buried treasure back in the Caribbean?” Ned asked her.

“Only Captain Kidd buried his treasure, Ned. Those sort of tales were made to entertain children during bedtime.” She sighed, tucking away a lock of blonde hair behind her ear. Ned pursed his lips and watched their workers toil without qualms.

“You used to be very optimistic, where did that go?” he had to probe. In the corner of his watchful eye, he saw Sarah bowing her head, as though ashamed to confess a certain sin. He led Sarah back to their cab, helping her as he did, and got into his seat across from her.

“Look, I know I’m not the person who should give this sort of advice, but you and Jacob have to stop avoiding each other like this. Ever read that novel? Something about pride...”  
Sarah did not remove her gaze from the window. “Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen.”

“Yeah, that’s the one. You see, you’re kind of like Elizabeth Bennet right now: you make a show that you do not like Jacob, because he’s stubborn and a bit of an arrogant dick. And the reason why he won’t talk to you now is because of his male pride being struck. Do you understand that?” Ned elucidated for her. Sarah crossed her arms, indicating that she did not want to hear anymore of Jacob. But her companion continued—

“And as for Jacob being Mr. Darcy...let’s just say he’s doing his best to make amends, though he’s trying to find the right time to say his apology.” With that, Ned sat back into the cushioned seat and took out a crushed cigarette from his jacket pocket. It had taken them a while, when at last, he saw his business partner droop her shoulders like an exhausted child.

“I just do not understand how all of this works, Ned.” Sarah muttered without looking back at him.

“You both will. If you’re really meant for each other, then it won’t take long before Jacob comes scurrying back to you like some hungry puppy.” Ned chuckled and realized that he did not bring a matchbox with him. Cursing his forgetfulness, he tossed the unused stick of tobacco into a puddle, where it was trampled by the hooves of a cart-dragging horse.

Before long, the pair had completed their task around the City of London, and a bit around Southwark, before heading back to Whitechapel Station to ensure that the cargos were well-guarded by the Helpers and Rooks. At around five noon, Bertha had eventually arrived at her frequent stop, and everyone began to assist one another to bring the items into the hideout.

“I’m sure those fine things would make a great addition to the train.” Ned commented, staring at one particular jewelry box, with pearl necklace dangling from the corner like some dog’s tongue.

“Ah, ah, mind your eyes, Mr. Wynert.” Sarah playfully admonished him.

“I only have eyes for the prettiest things.” He said and prolonged his gaze towards her.

The fair-haired girl finally let out a laugh, much to the relief of her workers, and followed Ned into the train to officially end their mission with Evie and Henry. She gave a pause at the entrance: she looked about the second train carriage in pure curiosity and wonder: more beer bottles had been added to the collection, as well as some news articles about mysterious events were pinned onto the walls. She likewise noticed the brand new velvet curtains on the windows, including the mounted head of antelope. Agnes must have been in such a sprightly mood if she had been putting up new decorations in her locomotive.

“Where’s Mr. Frye?” it was Ned who asked, although Sarah remained in her place.

“Off to beat a poor man’s face in, last I heard.” Evie told him. “Then he had to go meet with some lady named Miss Attaway.” If one had a skillful sense of sight, they would have noticed the way Sarah’s eyes widen at the mention of a familiar name.

“Attaway? As in the owner of Attaway Transport?” she questioned almost worryingly. Evie and the others glanced at one another before nodding once. “What on earth is he doing with the likes of her?”

Ned was quick to shrug his shoulders. “We don’t know. When I was assisting him with that raid, he wouldn’t tell me a thing, only that this Pearl requested him to steal Millner’s internal combustion engines.”

“And you haven’t stopped by my rooms to ask about her?” Sarah nearly yelled at him. The flash of pure trepidation in her eyes proved that there was something wrong, indeed.

“Sarah, I need you to relax for a moment, and then tell us who is this Pearl Attaway.” Evie said, stepping forward to place a gentle hand on the girl’s shoulder.

The blonde girl pressed her pretty lips, her blonde brows furrowing close. “Pearl Attaway is known for her competitiveness in the transport industry. She will kill those who stand in her way to success. Including that of Millner Company.” Then, in all her seriousness, she added, “And she is Starrick’s first cousin.”

* * *

Jacob hated the feeling of betrayal. Of being used and exploited. He thought about that poor Millner chap and his unfortunate company, how he had hinted at everything about his prominent business rival, but the Assassin had not stopped to listen. Now, here lies Miss Attaway, drowning in a pool of her own blood. It won’t take long for the Blighters to arrive, and it certainly wouldn’t take long for Starrick to hear the news of his cousin’s death.

“It’s business, Mr. Frye. One does what one must to come out on top.” Pearl’s words rang in his ears. For a moment there, Jacob imagined a different Sarah Callum in his mind, someone who kills with no mercy, if it meant achieving some goals in her trade.

He shook his head furiously. No, Sarah would never...he needed to see her. He needed to see her badly.

* * *

It was half past seven in the evening when the young proprietor of the Olive Branch heard a noise in her Sitting Room. She had abandoned her accounts and invoices, having heard no alarming bark from Cymbeline. With a shaking hand to her heart, she entered the room and found the window opened, and a lone figure sitting upon one of her cushioned chairs.

“Jacob?” she whispered. Cymbeline was whining by his knee, questioning the lack of movement from their guest.

Sarah quickly went to light all of the wax candles before making her way back to Jacob: she knelt down in front of him, took off his top hat, and checked to see if there were any injuries on his person. When there was none, she sighed out in quiet joy, and then peered into his vacant hazel eyes. It didn’t take much for her to figure out what had happened. She knew Jacob was not completely a fool; there was cleverness even in his ignorance. Carefully, she reached a hand to brush away a few strands of hair from his face, and then rested her palm along the strong line of his jaw.

“I’m sorry.” Those two words brought everything to a standstill.

Sarah smiled, leaning up to plant an amorous kiss on his scarred brow. “And I forgive you. I will always forgive you, Jacob.” He gripped her hand in his, and his eyes eventually found hers again.

“I’ve been so dim-witted these days. If I should have done this sooner, I wouldn’t end up like this.” He exhaled deeply that his breath caressed her cherubim cheeks.

“Pearl mistook you for an idiot. She should have thought better than to play with an Assassin like you.” Sarah told him. Gradually, she rose up to her feet, gazing down at Jacob like some angelic messenger from heaven. “You turned the tables on her, and her grip on the transportation business has been dissolved, permanently. Another Templar presence has been snuffed out, and London can breathe a little more easy, thanks to you.”

Jacob soon followed her, his hands coming down to hold her by the waist. He pressed his mouth against her warm cheek, with the tip of his nose grazing her soft skin. And then, his arms found their way around her, trapping her in an affectionate cage. His lips were soon moving, almost in a magnetic way, toward the corner of her mouth. But he stopped to look, and to feel the hesitance that she normally gave off. Sarah did neither, and she was waiting for him.

“I never want to let you go, ever again.” He said, his voice dropping low into sincerity.

“I won’t disappear, Jacob. I promise you that.”

The kiss was sudden. Sarah had naturally jumped in surprise at the feeling of his mouth upon hers, but his grasp weighed her back to the ground, keeping her steady, and holding her close to his beating heart. She felt herself reacting in ways she could have never imagined before. There was happiness, and there was love. And most importantly, there was peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c
> 
> They kissed at last. That's all I'm going to say~!


End file.
